"That's sort of what I mean." Branwen replied to her friend. "We pretty much had the same start." Takumi was silent, gazing up at the moon with tranquility rivaling the hillside. He didn't need to respond for her to keep going. "Because I mean. When I ran away from home, I lived in the wilderness with only my pokemon and had to fight like an animal every day to live. . .and poverty in the city is pretty much the same thing." With a deep, slow sigh, a gentle summer breeze flicked their stray hairs with their forms awash in moonlight. What was the difference, she wondered. "But you. . . you entered the monastery in Ekruteak; became a monk: a man of respect and discipline. And I'm. Well. Whatever I am." "A brilliant survivalist." His reply was reassuring in its flat, matter-of-factness. "Consider where we started and where we are. Different clay in the same fire still makes different pots." She blinked, brows pinched together in thought. He's right. It was moments like these - under the stars in contemplation, reflection and pondering, that Branwen could measure how much had changed by how much had not. And thankfully, moments like these are timeless. ---------------------------- This was a late birthday gift to a great friend, but I unfortuantely got fed up trying to paint a night time scene, so I stopped where I am. I took the first pic and modified it to make a more presentable, consistent scene. The link above is the song that inspired the image, and was written and sung by my best friend, Ezra.
