[ When the tree doesn’t meld around him and swallow him whole, Martin pulls back, seemingly appeased by his silly poking and prodding. He glances over at her, eyebrow raised. ]

Oh yeah, that’s right. Something about it being closer to an anchor keeps them here longer –

[ He’s awkward, but he’s not the kind of guy to loom. Already, he’s scouting for a good walking stick, a clipped sound of victory when he finds one that he deems safe and worthy of their adventure. Could he be less golden retriever? He uses it to poke around in the grass, which is dismissed quickly enough. ]

I already miss Thomas. I had to help him make a few drinks, and he told me all about his son. He had…more skin in the photographs.

[ Spoken like a man who has his perception of normal twisted by happenstance. He cranes his head to look ahead, eager to see what else this sad little park holds. With his walking stick, he gives camp counselor vibes. He’d whistle a little tune, but he’s not completely at ease, not yet. ]

Have you been exploring the Fringes for long?