Llewellyn steps out of the car with a frown on his face and a rather irritating twitch in his hand. 
He has his houlder-length brown hair pulled up in a sort of manbun, and the fresh air is refreshing at the nape of his neck. He has a backpack with clothes and basic supplies, and not much else. He always disliked traveling. 
But the camp, at least, promised a home. Somewhere he could stay and just breathe. 

His finger twitches, and the frown deepens. He walks into camp.