Sailing the breeze

[Regan de Morte]

Hey!
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The fire had started to crackle as it grew in intensity, Regan adding the last small pieces of wood as she moved to sit, crossing her legs and leaning her back against her rucksack, which she had placed behind her. The afternoon had already started to fade into evening, the sun starting its slow descent causing the trees to cast shadows all about the camp. It wasn't until a noise caught her attention that Regan looked up from the fire, green eyes following the path of quite a bruised and battered looking fellow. When he sat by the fire in front of her she found it odd that he hadn't even acknowledged her with a greeting, let alone not bother to look her way, though it soon became apparent he was blind when she caught sight of the pink of his eyes. Feeling awkward, but thinking fast she moved with a rustle of her skirts to stand, before plopping right back down on her bag noisily — careful to avoid her violin and other precious belongings — smiling kindly even though she knew he wouldn't see it.

“Hello,” she greeted him in her lightly french accented purr, stretching and laying across the pack on her side with her elbow on the ground, and her hand propping up the side of her head. “My name is Regan,” she said in way of introduction, positive that he might have guessed already from her light accent, and the fact that this was her first day in Esper Hollow, that she was new here without having to say it aloud. Making small, swirling designs in the ash and dirt in front of her with her index finger she asked, “do you live here?” Before looking back up with her kind green eyes to await his response.

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