behind these walls, you can be so self-absorbed

Balthier sat on a piece of bleached driftwood that he had hauled over to his camp as a bench some time ago. He rested his feet in front of a small fire, which crackled engagingly and smelled faintly of resin. The weather had been rainy recently, but today there was at least a period where the sun tried her damndest to peek through the heavy clouds.

He relaxed, whittling a stick with a small, short knife, and watched the breeze coming off the water lift the little green and white curls of wood and carry them away. His phone sat nearby, on a folding fabric chair, face down. It had been easy to get used to the device, and now he was sure Krem was on the way over, he was happy to ignore the thing.

The problem with the smartphones, of course, was that when one had the ability to contact you wherever you were, whatever you were doing, they often thought they had the right. Balthier let everything go to voicemail with impunity to teach callers a lesson. Except, of course, for the rare few he really had a shine for.

Balthier lifted his face and shielded his eyes when he heard approaching footsteps.

"Ho, there."