Morning Light

After an exhausting two-day hunt tracking rare, aggressive geckos through marshland, Kite finally collapses against an ironwood tree and falls deeply asleep. The morning sun finds him there—white hair spilled over his shoulders, hat low over his eyes, face softer than it ever is awake.

You sits nearby with a sketchbook, charcoal in hand.

You don't sketch the animals you caught.

You sketch him.