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There was something to be said about laying out in the sunshine, free of any agenda or schedule. The only things that mattered were the wind, the warm rays and the trickling of the nearby stream. Not too long ago, Tomo had overlooked the joy in such simple modern marvels. He would have rather spent his time playing cards at the local restaurants or bars, trying to amass back some semblance of Mora. Back then, he had lived for the next day, not for the moment, not in the moment. That was until he met Kazuha.
How long had it been, now? Three or so years, since he left the safety of a rundown home? When his parents had urged him that, if he was unhappy, to seek out something that would bring him as much joy as he did to them. When he had left what remained of a moderately wealthy family, shaken down from the turmoil in Inazuma and the corruption of the wealthy. When he had set out to do something more than be a proud samurai that clung desperately to past grandeur.
(And how long had it been since he met Kazuha?)
No, living in the past had never been quite Tomo's style.
Nowadays, resting under the stars felt more like a home than anything ever had. Sometimes, if the Adventurer's Guild had enough commissions, he would have Mora to splurge on a room at a dusty Inn. Most of the time, though, he took to sleeping beneath the stars, listening to the bugs chirping and the birds greeting dawn. It brought a sense of peace and adventure, even if his days weren't spent doing anything particularly riveting.
He had told himself, three years ago, that he'd see the world. There was far too much out there for Inazuma to be the best, to be the only thing he ever got to experience. His parents had never left the islands; he promised he'd do better.
Tomo's hand breezes back through his bangs. The wind instantly knocks them astray once more, but this time, Tomo lets it happen. The day is pleasant - the thunderstorms are far off on the horizon, threatening to wreak havoc later - and the temperature is mild. A few pieces of fruit lay haphazardly swept up in Tomo's scarf that lay beside him, keeping them from rolling down the small hill he's sprawled out on. The nearby rock had been tempting to recline on, but the rich smell of earth and grass had lured him back down to the ground.
"We're in for another night of rain," Tomo murmurs, eyes shut as he stretches his arms above his head, pillowed behind his skull on the tufts of grass. "Think we should cut our losses and find somewhere that isn't a tree or tent tonight?"
How long had it been, now? Three or so years, since he left the safety of a rundown home? When his parents had urged him that, if he was unhappy, to seek out something that would bring him as much joy as he did to them. When he had left what remained of a moderately wealthy family, shaken down from the turmoil in Inazuma and the corruption of the wealthy. When he had set out to do something more than be a proud samurai that clung desperately to past grandeur.
(And how long had it been since he met Kazuha?)
No, living in the past had never been quite Tomo's style.
Nowadays, resting under the stars felt more like a home than anything ever had. Sometimes, if the Adventurer's Guild had enough commissions, he would have Mora to splurge on a room at a dusty Inn. Most of the time, though, he took to sleeping beneath the stars, listening to the bugs chirping and the birds greeting dawn. It brought a sense of peace and adventure, even if his days weren't spent doing anything particularly riveting.
He had told himself, three years ago, that he'd see the world. There was far too much out there for Inazuma to be the best, to be the only thing he ever got to experience. His parents had never left the islands; he promised he'd do better.
Tomo's hand breezes back through his bangs. The wind instantly knocks them astray once more, but this time, Tomo lets it happen. The day is pleasant - the thunderstorms are far off on the horizon, threatening to wreak havoc later - and the temperature is mild. A few pieces of fruit lay haphazardly swept up in Tomo's scarf that lay beside him, keeping them from rolling down the small hill he's sprawled out on. The nearby rock had been tempting to recline on, but the rich smell of earth and grass had lured him back down to the ground.
"We're in for another night of rain," Tomo murmurs, eyes shut as he stretches his arms above his head, pillowed behind his skull on the tufts of grass. "Think we should cut our losses and find somewhere that isn't a tree or tent tonight?"
