Private to: @Xiomara Torres, @Rowan Sallow

Wearing: White t-shirt, grey joggers.

2:35am, 16th July
If Renzo were to make friends here, having people sleeping in a shared tent with him was likely not the best of places to start. At least when it came to him. His nights were rarely peaceful and often filled with nightmares of such, or the odd grunt, groan and mumble. On recent of occasions even sleepwalking. It was something he was conscious of knowing the following mornings, mostly from elder his brother who always enjoyed to tease him and dramatise the whole situation, although he found himself having them more frequently as of late.

Laying within his sleeping bag, he huffed and twitched, his brows furrowing and his fingers unknowing gripping ahold of the blanket that covered him as he was sleeping restlessly. A few inaudible mumbles followed and his temperature would raise. It was enough to cause him to stir further in his sleep. So much so that he suddenly sat up. "Fermare!" He called out and the cold air caught his throat. A hand quickly raised over his heart that beat faster than usual and his eyes scanned their surroundings, remembering where he was. God he hoped he hadn’t woken anyone and scared them. The last thing he needed was people whispering rumours about him and giving him weird looks. It was his second day here… he needed to make friends, not scare them off.

Thankfully, nobody seemed disturbed from their sleep. The boy closest to him, Aamon seemed to be well away, so it was likely that nobody in the distance were to have heard anything. "Ugh.." He grunted to himself as he pulled back the covers to let the cool air reach his skin. A hand brushed over his forehead quickly to wipe away the sweat before he stood and quietly made his way to the exit of the tent. Fresh air was needed. As beautiful as the night sky the tent provided was, it meant very little in his clouded mind right now.

Once greeted with the fresh, cool breeze from the outside, he let out a deep breath and pinched the bridge of his nose. The vague memory of his nightmare washed over him. It was his sister. It was always her. Sometimes she was alone, and other times a dragon could be heard or seen. Every time he was never be able to save her. But how could he. She was dead and he was just a child. No eleven-year old could save anyone from such a beast. Tears slowly began to form in his eyes yet he wouldn’t let them fall. No.. not anymore. He was such a crybaby. So weak and stupid.

english — ▇ italian — ▇

Fermare! = Stop!

─────────────── Statistics ── sta. 10 eva. 5 str. 0 wis. 4 arc. 6 acc. 10

Everything was quiet. It was the first night beneath the sea of stars known as the Pisces tent, and Rowan lay awake upon her sleeping bag, arms folded across her body. The young vipress had reached the frustrating dilema of finding the inside of her sleeping bag to be too warm and the outside to be too cold. Eventually, Rowan had settled for her black sweatshirt, adorned with three little silver stars on the chest, to balance the quandary. Around her, the chests of the others in the tent rose and fell peacefully, soft breathing being the only sound to discontinue the silence. After several hours of laying awake, trying to find a comfortable enough position for sleep, Rowan began drifitng off just before the moon reached its peak in the sky.

The sleep which the young witch fell into was light and fragile. Her eyes barely stayed closed, and she found herself growing increasingly frustrated with her inability to stay asleep. It had to have been at least an hour or two past midnight when Rowan was awoken once again by a frightened cry. "Fermare!" Rowan's eyes flew open, but she didn't move a muscle. She couldn't move a muscle, as if her body was still trapped in the depths of sleep and had not caught up to her brain. The voice was much louder and laced with emotion than the quiet, shy one Rowan remembered from this particular boy when the group had introduced themselves the prior afternoon. But she recognized it nonetheless. As the feeling began to creep back into her limbs, Rowan listened to the quiet shuffling that accompanied Renzo's gasps for air as he stood from his sleeping space. Though she couldn't see the boy, she imagined his figure tip-toeing as silently as possible through the maze of sleeping bodies towards the tent's exit. Following a quick sound of fabric rubbing against itself, likely signaling Renzo's departure, everything was quiet again. Nearly. To her surprise, Rowan found herself curious about what had just happened. She didn't want to be; she wanted to fall back to sleep and wake up refreshed. But the more she tried to push Renzo out of her mind, the more her curiousity itched, until finally, frustrated with herself, Rowan stood and begin to move towards the front of the tent. It was this, this need for awareness, that caused the young witch so many troubles in life. The last thing she felt she was able to do was mind her own business.

The air outside was pleasantly cool, and Rowan relished the feeling of the damp grass on her bare feet. It reminded her of home. A light breeze played with the baby hairs around the girl's scalp, and she pushed them away before her gaze landed on a small figure in the moonlight, turned away from her, soft sobs escaping him. Was it pity, that Rowan felt? No, it didn't feel like pity. Rowan barely ever pitied anyone. Perhaps compassion. Empathy? The twelve-year-old had no idea how to decipher what she was feeling, though she was trying to learn. After a few minutes of standing behind a crying Renzo, her mind spiraling, wishing she knew what to do to help, or what to say, Rowan cleared her throat and stepped a little bit closer, so that her face was no longer in the shadows and the pale moonlight fell upon it. "Hello, Renzo," she said cooly. Rowan winced slightly at the sound of her own voice. She didn't want to threaten him, but her mannerisms often denote the opposite.