—————— @chcsings.
THE SKY IS DYED MAGENTA AS HEATHER BY THE SETTING SUN, casting pastel shadows over the vacant, sprawling plains that serve as the border between the realm of mortals and the feywild. there is no line indicating the demarcation between planes per se, but roe has long been able to tell by the near-psychedelic quality of the grass in fey territory — rustling mischievously even when there was no breeze, occasionally shifting in color. the flat landscape makes it easy to spot wayward travelers on this side of the border, so when dark eyes land on a figure in the distance the ranger is quick to approach, fingers twitching with the familiar urge to reach for their bow ( they don’t, but rowan has always been careful to keep their guard up just in case. )
as they near closer, something about the stranger gives her pause; the way he carries himself is different than most, not the nervous gait of someone who’s lost so much as a stroll. even stranger: the stranger is walking away from the feywild ... seemingly intact. she stops a respectful distance away, her dominant hand resting on her hip, just barely inching towards the bow and quiver strapped to her back. “ ... you're not lost, are you? " the choice of words and intonation imply a question, but the incline of a singular eyebrow relays the ranger's suspicion.
