count me in -- open, campfire

[WINTERWOLF]

[align=center][div style="width: 500px; text-align: justify; font-family: arial; font-size: 9.5pt; line-height: 1.4;letter-spacing:.1px"]In his experience, the easiest way to keep up with a society is to stop worrying about it. Like Warringkingdoms, he finds himself unbothered by the changes in the lives of others. At the most, it gets him to raise a brow. Takeovers are unimpressive, wars are petty — perhaps he's spent too much of his life accustomed to much worse. He can't use the excuse of lost memories (he has them) or apathy (he has that too). The truth of it is that he's simply spent too damn long under the weight of someone else. In its entirety, his life has always been more complicated than this. Winter was used to gilded floors and colorful fabrics hiding dirty secrets. He was used to monsters under a crown and good people under a layer of dirt. Nothing that happened here could surprise him, and to be honest he finds that almost none of it reaches him anyway. He missed moments of attachment, people of interest. Why they're all grieving, he hasn't the slightest clue. What to do about it, he still doesn't know. All he knows is that tomorrow will still come, and life will move on, piece by piece.

Right now, he's unable to accept the fact that his own life has the same potential. He wanders the territory without any particular goal, drawn to a fire and a quiet voice. It would be easy to simply hover in the background, walk away once he's certain that nothing's wrong. But today — today, he approached on the wrong side of the circle and finds himself looking at the stranger's face with a frown, and then the branch with sugar on the end. "What are you doing?" he asks before he can swallow his tongue.