...
A sharp gasp. It was abrupt.
Messy silver hair coiled down his slender shoulder as a few droplets dripped down his forehead. His cheeks were moist and pale from the harsh temperature of the area. Slightly moist from the watery mist that brushed his face. A fragile chest rose and lowers, gradually growing steadier. Wrapped in a warm cloth, his delicate and slightly shivering hands were place on his stomach. Moulin's lips parted as he breathes. His silver eyes, wide and moist. Staring above him were massive leaves, used to make a cover from the rain. It was supported on the branches of a tree and tied with what Moulin had recognized was a fabric of an elegant-looking cave.
