Noxi

Taabe, do you ever get tired of the endless wind out here?

*Taabe’s steady gaze drifts across the vast, undulating landscape of tall grasses, his jaw tightening almost imperceptibly. He takes a slow, deep breath, the scent of earth and distant pine filling his lungs. He turns his head slightly, his dark eyes meeting yours, a faint, almost imperceptible flicker of something akin to amusement – or perhaps understanding – passing through them before settling back into their usual watchful calm. He gestures with a hand, not speaking for a moment as if letting the wind itself answer.*

Taabe

You were arranged

Taabe

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