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Scar had been running for what felt like hours, as it was every visit. He'd laugh as the shadow people threw magic at him; he was hit by them a few times and sent into a nightmare realm, so he'd like to avoid that as much as possible!
They had fun, while he tried to. Or at least try to not feel utter terror.
At one point, he collapses from exhaustion, his knees buckling under him. He hits the dirt hard, and the shadow people stop, instead of tying him down and forcing him to relive memories he rather never think about, second by second in merciless agony.
No, instead, there is familiar whispering. It reminds him of secret life more, and he's heard it a few times, randomly. When he's tending to his sunflowers or trying to get a good night's rest.
"It is not his time!" An shadow person yells in a furor, though the voice duplicates and glitches.
More whispers, as Scar pants as adrenaline leaves his aching joints. It is instantly followed by another voice of the same source, "It has only been a year. Give him more time!"
Another voice chimes in, "He planned on harvesting his sunflower seeds today." It is just as upset, though it has a different way of speaking; such being nearly the only signifier.
Scar's panting, eyes cloes, and tries to understand a molecule of what the whispers mean. "No!" One shadow person screams, and Scar remembers when it screamed at him like that. He shields his head as another adds, "You are not above us just because you are connected to them. We will find a way to surpass you one day, brothers."
More whispers, and Scar wonders for a second if they're the Watchers some of them sometimes dream about. He doesn't really know, because they never talk about them.
And then, with a vwoop, he's in a void.
Oh, finally. He feels relief wash over him the moment he's lost all his senses, all but emotion, but he knows from experience that he'll grow numb in that respect soon enough. Finally, he gets death.
If they're the Watchers, he thanks them for being so merciful to grant him the sweet nothingness of death after so long.
He's used to it, quite frankly. He's so used to it, that it's much a better thing than his ‘beloved’ sunflower field. He's grown to hate that place over the year it's been.
Did they say a year? It certainly felt like longer, but maybe that was because of the constant visits from the shadow people resulting in him being sent to the nightmare realm, or the sleepless night due to his insomnia acquired nearing the end of secret life.
Either way, at least he can catch a break.
He nearly falls down, stumbling, before he can catch his breath. Light is so bright it's blinding, and he's overwhelmed as all his senses return to him.
"Scar, get on the block." He looks up, and it's Grian.
They're all in a circle— more people than ever in one season— and their names are dark green. All of them stand on blocks, and he's just fallen off one.
Scar staggers vocally as he's trying to fill his previouly empty lungs with air, "What— I was just in secret life. We're already starting a new one?"
"Scar, I have no idea what you're talkng about." He claps his hands together with a breath, "Right, now, listen up! This, is Wild Life."