The black-haired man on a wheelchair is not there, as well as his wheelchair. A perceptive person could possibly detect the trail of two lines being dragged across this sandy floor, while those who would happen to just be staring at him would notice him venturing into the forest by himself. In fact, he would have noticed them back and gestured an index finger close to his mouth to indicate silence.

	Silence. Indeed. Away from the mortals and their incessant talking. It's not quite as silent as being in the deep ocean, but the usual forest sounds are a nice change of pace. Not being submerged in material that induces rust and moss is a boon, too.
	To reminisce from several minutes ago, he so immediately felt the befalling of pure cringe -- a feeling he didn't even imagine he could feel until then -- as Landon began touting his lineage, that he could not have heard Sonia's response to it. Sonia Al-Ha... Hay...t...? Sonia. Just Sonia. Yes, at this point she's probably the de-facto leader of this troupe. Not that he cares for it. Might be valuable information for later.

	He halted from this rocky trek, his wheelchair enduring the bumps of several tree roots like a wagon let loose on a hill. He took from his inner pocket a flask of what seems like water but is most likely not, pulled down the cloth concealing the lower half of his face, and drank it.

	[@spiral origin]