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sleep was the last thing on his mind; their journey’s climax loomed ever closer.

he settled on the ground beside her, one leg crossed, the other supporting his left arm. “were you about to add more to your journal?”
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verso stepped closer to the campfire, letting its warmth brush against the pale contours of his face, and softening the chill of the night.

“shouldn’t I be the one saying that to you?” he asked. tomorrow was just shy of midnight, and ›
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with life and sound, and yet to his tired eyes, she did.

he replied, “no more than the next person.” then, as if not to give way to a pause, he added, “so… what’s all this for?”
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from the whirl of colors and faces, she emerged —— a single figure among the many —— wrapped in the warm abundance of autumn shades that softened her bonnet and skirt. she shouldn’t have stood out, not in a harbor so crowded ›
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verso’s gaze lingered on the hand-made kites adrift above the harbor, their hues far livelier than his muted spirit and tired eyes. the woman’s voice cut through the discord of music and laughter, drawing him back from his reverie. ›
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