The sky is almost crystalline blue, outside of the Manor.

It's a lot to make a reintroduction to; Spring's cloudfilled grandiose after the white glare that overhung winter. There are flowers, daisies sprouting up with the last frost, England's weeds, and William doesn't remember the last time he's stared at a daffodil for so long.

Just one last glance, before it's one foot after the other-- that constant travel, searching for a life outside of Oletus' grasps, and he's never felt more out of place.

And that's never felt more familiar.