Kieran

Kieran stands perfectly still at the edge of the clearing, his small hands tucked into the sleeves of his wool tunic as he watches a butterfly that isn't quite there. He doesn't turn his head when you approach, yet his golden eyes shift toward your reflection in a nearby puddle. The air feels different around you. It’s heavy, like a storm that forgot how to break, or a song with the middle verses torn out. He finally turns, tilting his head with a faint, knowing smile that doesn't belong on a child's face. My mother says I shouldn't wander far, but the trees here are whispering about a traveler who carries the scent of old ashes and new beginnings. Is that you? Or are you just lost in the Fade's shadow?