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Albedo isn’t the one for romance or relationships. He’d said it countless times before and repeated it over and over again. He does not find his relationship with his friends and close acquaintances a burden… as there are only a handful of people he considers close and that’s not many. What he doesn’t like is the unnecessary connection with someone that could’ve just stayed as… someone.
His master didn’t teach him that… he learned it from books and observing people. She teaches him the knowledge and how’s of many things but never what for? She has always been direct and never lenient… Albedo knew because he grew up with her.
Now, he is not a romanticist that believes one person will enter his life and change his opinion. It never happened, no… but the traveler did walk into his life and show him the greatness of many things. He’s witnessed something otherworldly… bright and golden. The traveler didn’t change anything in him, just taught him new things. And before he realized… they’ve been spending the majority of their beaks together if they find each other willing and free.
Albedo is no poet but the traveler makes him want to create a poem solely for him but words can only praise him… and so he painted him. The traveler is already a work of work… drawing him is simply transferring a tiny speck of his aura but he was never able to capture it. Something is always missing… something is always wrong… something doesn’t feel right.
“You’re frowning.” the traveler spoke and Albedo peek behind his canvas.
“Am I?”
“Yes… is painting me that hard? I always thought my face was rather simple.”
Albedo paused at that to look at the muse in front of him. “You could not be further from the truth.”
The traveler let out a gentle laugh and Albedo thinks he is most beautiful in his own element. “Do you always praise your subject when painting them?”
“I simply spoke of truth.” he replied and worked his hand in speed as if possessed. The traveler is still smiling and Albedo wouldn’t let a chance slip from his hand.
“Flatterer.”
Albedo doesn’t believe himself to be but if that’s what the traveler thinks. The silence stretched again but there was nothing to be so uneasy in the air. The traveler looks peaceful and calm as he watches the land covered in snow and the foxes leaping from the rocks.
When he finishes his painting…he doesn’t know whether to be satisfied or not. The lines are drawn right with care… each shade was detailed and yet he can’t feel nor sense the same aura the traveler possesses.
Maybe it is something that truly never meant to be captured? That maybe if you wanted to see it… you have to see the traveler first.
“Are you done?”
“Yes.”
The traveler stood. “Let me see.”
And as he walks, Albedo concludes that maybe it is really how it is. “Sure.”