There is a thick and daunting darkness beyond the layers of spaced trees. Trunks that reach up, and the further back from sight they are, the more their canopies join in the void of night, dancing softly unseen in the twilight breeze. Oh, yes, indeed it is dark here.
These stalks in the dark are cherry trees, and its their season to display the sunset across their crowns. Within this forest of softer and twig like trees there is a circle clearing, and within it is filled with the only dim light to surpass the hazing smog of the early morning hours, candles and many of them. Wax globs alight with small fires sit between the parts of branches, upon the ground, on small stones, and in the center is a orb blanket to encompass a floor. Upon this circular rug upon the grass and dirt stand two, joy filled children. One is a young girl in a rose and moss colored dress, her hair let down in a wavy stream of gold, like a melted metal that shines in each coin of a hard days work. She is smiling, and that is good.
Standing against her, holding her by her waist is a young lad, tall for his age, with hair of a weaker gold than hers, his only a matter of straw. He is dressed in a fanciful tunic and cloak, spinning her in a circle and leading her along. He is smiling too.
This candlelit dance in the cherry orchard only lasts a moment long, and quickly the image flicks anew, now thee two stand again in the clearing, long dried bits of candle wax adorn a few of the trees, adn the grass and weeds have overgrown the clearing. This time he stares at her, fully grown and garbed like a man, with a rogue chin, but he is not smiling. She is wearing a darker, gray-blue dress, and facing the opposite of him as she speaks quietly to him behind her back, "So this is where then..."
He speaks to her, almost in disbelief, "Do you not remember? It was special to us then."
He cannot see her face, and in his head he wishes her to turn and see him, but no matter how hard he screams in there, he cannot beg her to show him who she is. She scoffs a bit and shifts her feet, her hands held together behind her back as a few fingers fiddle with an extravagant golden ring across her finger on her left hand, two crimson crystaline gemstones broadsiding a large clear gem in the center. Her words are toned down, and blunted, and they sting, "We were foolish children then. It is foolish now to misunderstand our purpose. We must only do what is asked of us."
"Were we? If were were foolish then, are we foolish now? Am I a fool to you?"
Stitches sits up and gasps softly, looking around. His glance catches the sun from his spot on the hill, and he shields himself with his arm and a grunt. After a few moments he stands and lets out a wince, clutching at his shoulder gently, mumbling to himself, "A dream...that's it." His eyes wander to where he had slept, out in the open field, he must've passed out there the previous night, but for his life he can't remember how or when he got there. He raises a hand to wipe his forehead of a cold sweat and shakes his head, "Sleeping on the job...How much time I must've wasted." He says aptly, scooping his straw hat from the ground to place it atop his head, turning south to head to Bree once more.
Stitches in recent has learned to bake and cook on a small scale. He's no master, but he's suited to make edible and decent tasting food, in preparation for what's to come.
