For Evelyn! Treetop Terrace. 
Micah functioned best by himself. A natural introvert, the boy's countless anxieties were most roused by forced social interactions in which he was unsurprisingly uncomfortable. Micah did not seek others out for fear of inconveniencing them: interrupting whatever they were doing and potentially uprooting all their day's plans simply by showing up. He could not deal with such guilt on his soul in addition to the anxiety of speaking with such unknown figures in the first place. He could not stand his spirits being drained away as the nervousness ate away at him, and hated returning home exhausted and frustrated — and that was why Micah functioned best by himself.
Of course, there were exceptions to the rule. He had meandered somewhere in the Cercatori forests, pleased to be left alone to enjoy the fresh air and warmer weather; at some point he had come across some strange mess of wooden bridges and huts hanging from the treetops. The artist stared up at it through his curls for some time before deciding it might be a lovely view, then proceeded to start up the ladder, bag at his hip bobbing with each step, the tin bottles within clanking a pleasant noise.
Micah made the mistake of looking over his shoulder mid-way up the length of the ladder. Vertigo set in instantaneously, as if the ladder waved and shook in the wind as he peered at the ground so far below, and for a moment he simply clung on with a death grip, trembling and terrified. Whining a little to himself, the yearling could not bring himself to go back down; instead, he climbed further up and crawled onto the platform short of breath and with a pounding heart. His body still trembling terribly, the salt-and-pepper boy eventually managed to raise to his feet and cling to the banister, staring big-eyed at the bridges and the ground so far below.
Panicked. Stuck. Helpless and hopeless, like always, he was, and yet the boy could not bring himself to make a sound.
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