the things we hold are always the first to go
Ronin doesn't know what it is that's disturbed the fretful sleep he's been getting out in the boondocks. He and Maeve haven't gotten all that far with their rowboat-up-the-river plan, what with having to wait for it to sufficiently dry out, and hunting rabbits and trying to make cookfires and all that. So, deciding to go ahead and try in earnest in the morning, they've settled down for a rest. Until... now, obviously.
"What is that," he mutters under his breath, peeling up from the ground to squint into the suddenly eerie texture of the moonlight. Climbing to his feet, either Maeve will sleep through this or she'll come and join him, but either way, Ronin's curiosity draws him out towards the sea. Towards where the waves clap against the grass and the moon sticks to the air.
"What is that," he mutters under his breath, peeling up from the ground to squint into the suddenly eerie texture of the moonlight. Climbing to his feet, either Maeve will sleep through this or she'll come and join him, but either way, Ronin's curiosity draws him out towards the sea. Towards where the waves clap against the grass and the moon sticks to the air.
