Seeing in Colour

Difficult and easy changes had come his way. Some opportunities were missed and others taken. A few people and events had sunk in fangs venom-filled, or sweet and sad as a last breath. Everything mattered right now, even the small things most took for granted. Mattering didn't mean they needed to be complicated.

Khaki-green was the colour of Bree and its people. Sleepy, peaceful folk with a bitter streak. He saw green in their peace, their luck and the robust nature of them. But the undertones of grey and bile came in to mar what may have otherwise been fresh and soft as a new leaf.

These folk were jaded, out of touch, leathery and uninspired. Dissatisfied with themselves and each other. Even those who were young and spritely showed him this colour, or that they had been touched by it closely, disturbing what brighter, paler, or deeper hues could be beneath.

The yellow-grey dulling the luster of these folk was something he chose very soon to ignore, cast aside or not take seriously. He may not have ever seen his own colour but he was certain it did not contain those shades, nor did they mix well with his - whatever it was. (If it even existed at all.)

Even those not native to Breeland were showing this shade. One of the first surprises was how far many had come to be here. He had been wary to reveal his own origins at first. Though as more time passed, it seemed his path was more mundane than most - which to him was saying something. Drastic travelers and passer-bys weary from a long road would stop around Bree to rest. It was logical, so far from everything worth seeing, and so out of the way, Breeland was a haven for jaded recuperation. Perhaps also for meeting those of like mind.

He swiftly acclimatised himself to this strange culture and the colour in his mind's eye surrounding it. It wasn't difficult to fit in here, at least, especially with the population of travelers in these times. What proved more of a test was that here, he was learning to affiliate with people at close proximity. Everyone had a motive, of course, and his instincts spoke to him more than once to let sleeping dogs lie - go. Leave. That was easy enough at first, but some care had grown, particularly for Silver and Lavendara, but also for the study of those who had drawn near, even for a few moments. Some of these people had struck a chord deeply. Through that khaki hue prevalent in all of these people around him, he began to see streaks. Not showing fully, but trying to. Certainly in Silver and Lavendara. Neither of them were able to show much beyond the grey-green shades, for entirely different reasons. Both of them pretenders - like him. Perhaps some of these stabs of colour were false. He wouldn't mind, he was enjoying the sight even if it was all lies and pretty webs. Lavendara at least fought that sickly khaki. He couldn't tire of watching her fight it. Secretly, somewhere, his soul was celebrating, a like-mind. Someone who would never succumb to the grim, the repetitive or the mundane. He knew what her colour was underneath, now, but the khaki residue, like an ugly ink would take some time to wash out entirely.

Simplicity and wanting nothing was growing more difficult for him, and with Cherria's cruel and final words to him through the window of her carriage - never to see him again, after a whirlwind of sudden events, he stood back to himself for a while. He needed to put some things into perspective and recover what lack of colour or mirror shade he kept close. Like a ghost. Like Silver's eyes - he knew why she drew attention to those.
He lived the reason.

Like the avalanche in the mountains though, the momentum of the slide with these people was abrupt and he knew now he couldn't stop it immediately no matter what he did.

Especially when she kissed him like that, and it was orange.