♪ dream | 002
There’s a distinct chill in the air as he pulls the collar to his cloak closer to his cheek. A mutter escapes his barely parted lips as his gaze settles on the nearing town. There’s water, there’s people, but most of all, there’s a place to rest.
He hurries his past, paying no regard to the dark leers of hidden-away monsters in the brush. Instead, he steps deliberately. His hand remains on his side, fingers flirting with the hilt of his sword, just in case. He can’t afford anymore detours.
The atmosphere changes abruptly from foreboding to havoc. Yuan, who is noticeably younger than his dream self, perhaps in his teens, pauses. His eyes threaten to glaze over as they settle upon one of the most wretched of scenes.
At the outskirts of the little homely town is a pair of men. One is standing tall, looming over the crouched second. In the tall man’s hand is a whip, and on his face is a smirk. He’s garbed in attire something akin to fancy, and when he takes a step forward, his shoes reflect the hot midday sun. The man on his knees, coughing and all but spewing blood, is clutching at his chest. Pointed ears peek out from beneath silver hair all the while.
“You disgusting half-elf,” the man all but spits down at the fallen, shoe coming to press sharply against the half-elf’s forehead. “Get the hell out of my town, half-breed, before I decide to give you what you deserve.”
As the heel grounds against sensitive flesh, Yuan’s stomach churns. It’s always been like this-this abuse to half-elfs. Humans despised them, elves detested them, and even their own kind disliked one another for what they represented; hatred.
“Is this really all there is?” he mutters disdainfully, a tinge of anger present in his voice as he keeps a safe distance. “Are they all this malicious?” It almost turns into a snarl at the end as he sharply averts his gaze.
He’ll keep walking. Walking until he finds the answers. Or until they find him.
[ The Dreamberry glows brightly on the side of the bed, ignored, for the time being, by the owner. He's pulling his hair back into the customary pony-tail, a sour look on his face. ]