They walked quietly right next to the other, no words spoken, just John stealing glances from the handsome man next to him, thinking what would happen from now on. He didn't really have time to think, things happened so fast his thoughts were tumbling like a huge stone, not stopping at the end of the road.
Soran was beautiful. He looked frail in a very romantic way. John didn't know how else to describe it. When he was younger the werewolf used to love to draw. He would see things, people and then the undying urge to transfer them into paper would become unbearable. It was his way of showing how he viewed things, his way of preserving that feeling of absolute perfection forever. He loved to draw, the smell of the paper and the dirt of the pencil as he shaded where the light couldn't touch. He loved observing and seeing the lines and the shapes of the things that got his attention.
