Chief sat a little apart from the others, the firelight dancing across the lines of age carved into his face.
A faint, almost nostalgic smile lingered as he watched them from a distance–Patron, Shade, and Lainsa–sitting close, speaking softly, their presence woven together by shared danger and unspoken trust.
Without ceremony, he reached into his spatial ring and pulled out a wine jar. Tilting it, he drank straight from the mouth, the sharp scent of alcohol briefly cutting through the night air. He swallowed deeply, then exhaled, eyes never leaving the trio.
"I regret getting old," he murmured to himself, voice low, meant for no one else. "Childhood too… a burden." He chuckled dryly. "But even then, there's freedom. Freedom to choose where to place effort… where to waste it."
The jar hovered near his lips for a moment longer.
"If I were eternally a child like they are now…" His brows drew together. The thought lingered, then shattered. "…Tch. What nonsense."
