There's a warning lodged in his memory, taken from Jast's mind and held carefully in his own. It's a vague but terrifying thing, a prophecy of some sort of terrible event wrecking havoc on the whole world. He thinks of the boy and his warning as the earth shudders, the angry sun eating up the sky. Hopes he's alright, but his realm is not the physical, and he has no way to check.
He spends the day in a hostel room, protects against the heat and light in ways that seem familiar but have no memory to stand alongside them. The heat settling thick in the air doesn't really bother him so much, but he knows better than to wander outside and tempt the bite of the sun's rays. It would be a wasted endeavour anyway - no one else is out.
He waits until night, instead, the setting sun giving cue for the streets to gradually gain life again. Movement is slow, the humidity giving the air a consistency of syrup, but his money won't last forever and he sees no real reason to take the night off. Perhaps no one will want him in this heat, but perhaps they will.
He finds a suitable street corner - empty enough to mean occurrences go unnoticed, busy enough to keep from being dangerous - and leans against a too-warm brick wall, just outside the circle of light from the nearest streetlamp. He watches the few passing people for any interest, the only sign of the heat's effect on him a slight sheen of sweat over already dusky skin.
He spends the day in a hostel room, protects against the heat and light in ways that seem familiar but have no memory to stand alongside them. The heat settling thick in the air doesn't really bother him so much, but he knows better than to wander outside and tempt the bite of the sun's rays. It would be a wasted endeavour anyway - no one else is out.
He waits until night, instead, the setting sun giving cue for the streets to gradually gain life again. Movement is slow, the humidity giving the air a consistency of syrup, but his money won't last forever and he sees no real reason to take the night off. Perhaps no one will want him in this heat, but perhaps they will.
He finds a suitable street corner - empty enough to mean occurrences go unnoticed, busy enough to keep from being dangerous - and leans against a too-warm brick wall, just outside the circle of light from the nearest streetlamp. He watches the few passing people for any interest, the only sign of the heat's effect on him a slight sheen of sweat over already dusky skin.
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