Lanterns, things that brought light to places that were once plagued by darkness. Seeing how long the nights were in these winter days, Ozpin can see how they can be of aid to this little village, especially during a time of such joy and celebration.
Mid-winter. It’s something to mark as a sign of persistence, defiance. The terrain is ruthless and anything but kind, but people live on anyway. This small hope, this love for the thought of greener pastures could have warmed him if he was any younger. But the years have been hard ( the most recent months much, much harder, he’ll have to admit ), and the reminder of humanity’s stubborn desire to live makes him more exhausted compared to anything else. But it isn’t his business.
It isn’t his business because he doesn’t have any sway here, something that he forcefully made so by his own hand. It’s almost relieving, being absolved of the usual burden and responsibility ( and guilt ) that usually sat so squarely on his shoulders, but Oz should know better that the act of sitting still and doing nothing would be almost impossible for him. So here he is, a lantern tied to his cane as he walks with three more in his arms, trying to find the markers that people previously had placed down so he could set them down and be on his way. But what he finds first is not the type of marker that he’s expecting.
“ ... Qrow. “ He starts slowly, softly, still a ways away from the taller man. Why was Branwen all the way out here, when the immortal had been so intent to keep away from the other? He’d blame it on luck, but, haha, neither of them really much liked that word. “ Do... “ Do you want to walk together?
“ Do you have this area handled already? I’ll go elsewhere. “
( @crookedqrow, it’s really hard to not say ‘ it’s nice to see you. ‘ )
