Confusion/chaos/misery

Auster was becoming raw and chilly, par for the course this time of year Tate supposed. The blustery days were enough to blow the young man north, gaze ever-keen and stride ever-bold. Not that Boreas was all that great this time of year either, with the rain that had soaked through pretty much everything. Every step soggy and sodden, more than one night waking up in a puddle lately, and just... well, it should have put a damper on the boy's mood. Should have, but didn't.

Okay listen, there's nothing wrong with better living through chemical intervention.

Tate had begun smoking for the pain in his side after the first raid. That stupid girl-- he'd gotten her back for it, too. It didn't bother him anymore, hadn't so much has scarred. Sure, he'd begun smoking for those reasons, but he continued simply because he liked it. The shades of darkness he'd seen during the raid, those were things he didn't speak of. A sea monster lurked in his bones, one that he couldn't yet name. At least with a little intervention, Tate didn't have to think of it.

Among the trees, beside the pond, the young man rests with his dog. It's too wet to light a fire, but they've set a net for fish. This is where they'll camp this evening, after their first trip to the markets this year. Cannabis and apple scents color the air around him... a good evening, by his standards.

"Potato"