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Summary
“Recluse! Recluse! Look!!!”
The high-pitched, overly excited voice of the Sage sharply pierced his ears. The Recluse winced, facing the direction of his voice, trying in vain to see any more detail than a vague blur of blue and white. He was kneeling in the soil of his garden, the flowers wilted in the bitter cold, but he tended to them all the same. The Sage stood in front of him, crouching down to be at eye level with his friend. Since the Recluse could actually make out his facial features to a degree, he leaned back a bit, knowing the other was far too close to his face. And it was only because of personal space, and not at all because of the fluttering in his stomach.
“What do you want now?” The Recluse said, a bit frazzled but still coming off as just mildly irritated.