Kansas had been here once before, or so he thought. It was a long time ago, when he was a teenager, and for the life of him he couldn't even remember what he'd done here. The only thing that was prominent in his mind was that the sunflowers had been dead; skeletal, sorrowful things. He'd woken up that morning after having a strange dream about them, swaying in an invisible, ghostly breeze. He remembered them singing in the voices of fallen angels. Since he's awakened, he'd felt very different; dreams often had that effect on him, lingering in his mind and carrying on to his general mood throughout the day. He couldn't get the haunting voices of the dead flowers out of his mind.
This had influenced Kansas to leave home and wander in the direction of Batons et Pierres. It had been a rather uneventful day, and he hungered to inject it with some interest by leaving Crimson Dreams for a while. His intention was to shake the awful, sick sensation from inside him; it was almost subconsciously that he traveled toward Sunflower Sunsets, though he couldn't hide from himself the truth of what he was doing. He only hoped that it wasn't too late in the year to see them alive and to be comforted by their rightful silence.
The pale boy paid no mind to the sinking sun, but when the wilting tops of the sunflowers came into view, he noted how beautiful they looked against the backdrop of a painted sky. A strange, immense sense of relief came over him. He ran the rest of the way to the meadow, a smile on his face and his tail waving slowly at his heels. They were fine. Everything was fine. It was a few moments before the Sadira finally noticed the ashen figure relaxing in the midst of the stalks. Surprise came over him as he simply stared at her, and then recognition widened the smile already in place across his dark lips. he greeted.