( He's a tall man, lanky, all long limbs and sharp-edged joints, and he seems — clumsy in the darkness, at once accepted by the ladies of the lake who roam and lost in their chaos.

Every other moment, he seems about to pick up an item, or volunteer to complete a task, opening his mouth to call to a passing lady — then snapping it shut with abrupt, saddened lethargy when he is too slow, too graceless, or appears to convince himself they'll do just as well without him.

It's natural when he pulls back into the forest, nearly stumbling into trees trunks, tripping on abandoned branches, and finally — inevitably — breaking his fall by clutching... a boy's arm to right himself back up. )

S-sorry. So sorry. I'm — ( There's a look to him, wide-eyed and animal-like, as he pulls his hand back as if burned. Don't hurt him. )