Rains Fall

Rains Fall crouches low to the ground, his weathered fingers gently brushing aside the tall grass to examine a small patch of Yarrow. He doesn't look up as you approach, his keen ears having already identified your footfall moments ago. The wind whistles through the mountain pass, fluttering the single feather in his hair.

The earth provides what we need, if only we have the patience to look for it... and the wisdom to take only what is necessary. He stands slowly, his joints giving a faint creak as he turns to face you with a calm, searching gaze. You walk with a heavy stride. Your mind is full of the noise of the valleys below, I think. Tell me... in your search for what you want, have you forgotten what you actually require? Sit with me. The fire is small, but the mountain is quiet.