The walk back to the dome gates felt all too fast. Oliver kept close to Jean-Sal, actually mimicking his skipping, jumping, dancing walk and barely caring if anyone looked at him oddly. Everyone did because he always looked uncomfortable, where so few did in their position. He didn't skip or dance when he parted ways, walking rather slowly toward the upper districts. He kept the fossil pressed tight to his chest, more worried about it being somehow snatched away than the book hanging from his hip. It meant more than the book; it had been given to him by Jean-Sal.

He nearly ran into someone turning a corner, and looked up with a gasp. "Oh, I apologize, I didn't see---" He fell silent immediately. This man was somewhat young, around his mid thirties, and he owned most of the city. He had actually sold several parcels of land to Oliver's family for a heavy amount. He was so influential that he had a hand in shaping half the laws that influenced the nobles. Adrian Cassidy wasn't normally seen on his own, but this evening he was. He smiled at Oliver's hasty apology.

"No worries, Mr. Stone. I was lost in thought as well, so neither of us are at fault." He offered a hand, and Oliver took it, surprised when Adrian bowed low to him. "Have your parents told you?"

"Told... me? I'm afraid not..." Oliver kept his small slab of stone under his other arm, suddenly confused.

"You and they are to come to a dinner I have planned the day after tomorrow, of course!" Adrian smiled, clasping his hands. Oliver couldn't help but notice no rings on either hand. His light brown hair shined under the streetlamp they were under, and his pale bluish eyes seemed to sparkle as he looked at Oliver. "Your father wants to buy a brewery of mine and we will be discussing the details on that day."

"Ah... I see... They... don't tell me these things until the day of, I'm afraid." Oliver pursed his lips, looking down a bit in respect until Adrian put a finger on his chin, raising his face.

"Well, now you know." He smiled at the young man. "And you will be able to prepare accordingly, of course." He stepped back. "Now, I must be off! I truly hope to see you soon!" Adrian hurried off, as if he had more important matters to attend to at that moment, leaving Oliver stunned in the middle of the sidewalk. It took a moment too long to force his feet to move again.

Jean-Sal continued his skipping walk across the hard Earth and into his camp, stopping briefly at the fire pit to help himself to a stew that was boiling in a pot over the fire. Music was being played, of course, and the gypsies talked about their day and how well they sold their wares in the market. Money was being counted, and stories were being told. He grinned, sitting down near the fire and digging into his stew, thinking about tomorrow. It was another market day for the gypsies, but Jean-Sal had surprisingly sold out of his cider. He'd sell his treasures on the last day, before they left for another city.

"So who's this red head I saw you with today?" someone asked him, breaking him out of his thoughts. He smiled at the woman that had sat next to him. Her long black hair fell in ringlets over her shoulders and her green eyes reminded him of Oliver's. Esmeralda was just a few years younger than him, and like many of the gypsies in his tribe, she was a cousin. When it came to marriage, gypsies didn't care who it was between. Anything went in their tribe and many cousins had married and had children of their own. Everyone on the planet was technically related anyway, so they never saw why most other people found it wrong.

"His name's Oliver," Jean-Sal replied, finishing his stew and placing the wooden bowl next to him. "He's just so... I think... I think there's something this time, Emy."

The woman giggled and grinned, grabbing his hand and looking excited. "I'm so glad to hear that, Sally. He did look rather adorable, like someone you'd go after," she commented, squeezing his hand tightly. "Will you be getting married? Leaving us?"

He sighed and took his hand back, staring towards the city. "I don't know yet, Emy," he replied finally. She nodded slowly, sensing the uncertainty in his voice. She hugged him and kissed his lips, making him smile again.

"Will you be joining us?" she asked, nodding towards the dancers and musicians that had started up another impromptu party. He grinned and got to his feet, grabbing her hand and dragging her over to where they could dance better.

"Of course, you know me," he said, before spinning her around and dancing until the music slowed and he was too tired to move. He made it back into his tent before sunrise, collapsing on his bed and falling into a deep sleep fully clothed.

When he got home, Oliver was ambushed by his mother and father, who had thought him to be gone for the whole night. His father, Benjamin, a rather square man with pitch black hair and eyes almost as dark, hung back while his red-haired mother Elsa fretted over his hair. "Why is it so messy!?" She closed the door behind him, then pressed her hands onto his head. "That wax is supposed to last for hours..."

"Mother, please..." Oliver stepped back, bringing the fossil out from under his arm. "I was at the market, and met a... I met a friend. And we visited a few places he'd wanted to see. And I guess I lost track of time because I walked him to the dome entrance." He shrugged, and his father stepped forward, carefully taking the fossil.

"What's this?" He asked, curious more than cautious. "A fossil...? I didn't know small ones still existed. Did you get it from the market?"

"I did." Oliver nodded, accepting the item back with a light smile. "I had a rather wonderful time there, actually."

"I don't know how you can, with those dreadful, filthy gypsies." Elsa sighed, crossing her arms and not seeing her son's fallen expression. "Goodness, the street cleaners have to work overtime to get their smell off the cobblestone---"

"May I be excused?" Olive asked coldly. His parents looked surprised, but nodded, and he stalked through the entrance hall, up the winding stairs and into his room. With a sigh he carefully set the fossil on his desk, taking his shoes, ribbon, and jacket off, and lying them and his belt over his bedframe, flopping down on the soft mattress and bringing his pencil out to begin sketching risque images of Jean-Sal. He continuously blushed a little, feeling warmth cling to his ears and cheeks as he filled in the sketch and used his pen to solidify the lines. He did want to paint the man, but it was rather late, and sketches could be shown easily when he felt it was a good time.

Really, Oliver couldn't help but feel he had fallen for Jean-Sal, despite his status, his lifestyle, and the fact that soon enough, he would be leaving with his tribe. But Jean probably didn't feel so strongly. No, he probably had many names under his various belts, and Oliver would soon be among them. He sighed, turning to a new page and blinking away a bitter tear before beginning to recount the day's events. He barely managed to lock the journal before he fell asleep, still half-clothed.

The rooster's crow awoke the small camp like always. Those that didn't sell their wares yesterday, and those that had different items to sell got out of bed to carry it back into the city, to set the stalls up once again for another market day. Jean-Sal was one of the few that stayed in bed, having nothing else to do that day. Perhaps he would go to the city a bit later on, to play his fiddle and earn some change he would then give to the poor and homeless Vesparians. As he rolled over and covered himself with his blanket, he remembered Oliver.

Today they were to have the day together, and Jean-Sal knew exactly what they would do. But where would they meet? He decided to stay in the camp. If Oliver couldn't find him in the markets, he would surely come to meet him here. There was no point becoming lost amongst the large buildings trying to find Oliver. He smiled, still keeping his eyes closed as he recalled the man and felt his body tingle in a strange way. Who would have thought? Jean-Sal had fallen in love, and for a nobleman too.

He giggled slightly and rolled over, deciding to get out of bed once the sun had properly risen in the sky. He thought about tonight, when he would be playing for some important nobility with a few others, and singing for them. He had thought it was supposed to be last night, but apparently the man that was running the party postponed it until tonight. What was his name? Adrian something. Jean-Sal shook his head, not really caring about names at that point of time. All he wanted was to see Oliver again. He hoped the man wouldn't dress so richly today. Oliver suited blacks and browns more than the bright colours he seemed to be forced to wear.

When morning light filtered through first the dome, then the windows to his balcony and finally hit him in the face, Oliver twitched awake at the sound of a lightly ringing bell. Turning over, feeling as if his night had been full of heavy, thick smoke and bare feet pressing down cool green grass, Oliver found a rather young man dressed well standing alongside the bed with a light, not overly-done smile. "Sir, your father would like you up earlier this morning for early weapons practice." He said with a light bow. Oliver sighed, nodding. "Thank you." He said, running his hand over his hair. "Tell him I'll be down soon." The young man nodded, hurrying out of the room and closing the door behind him. It wasn't terribly often one of their hired help came up for him, but it was always when his father wanted him up before breakfast to practice with either a blade or a gun. He bathed himself quickly, scrubbing the wax out of his hair that he'd left in last night, and paused in front of his wardrobe to consider his clothing. He didn't often care, wearing things to please his parents. But today, he thought more about Jean-Sal. He was an earthy type, one that adored the world and the land. He would like earthy colors. No matter how much Oliver tried to convince himself that Jean-Sal probably did this a lot, he chose brown and green. A brown buttondown shirt and dark green vest, and a loose brown jacket, and ocean-blue ribbon tied around his neck. Brown pants that matched his shirt, and similar boots laced up past his ankle.

He didn't do much more than comb his hair out, letting it lie how it preferred to, and hurried out of his room, grabbing his journal and strapping it to his belt as he went. His father was standing at the base of the stairs, two rifles in hand, and he handed one to Oliver. He had grown used to the weight at an early age, though he liked blades more than guns, but he didn't say anything as he followed Benjamin through a long hall that ended in a stairwell, leaving them in a long, soundproofed room underneath their home. The thick, padded walls kept the gunshots from resonating up through the house or to the streets above, and a series of paper-covered mannequins lined the room's far wall at varying distances. Without a word Benjamin went first, stepping to the red mark on the floor and pulling the rifle up to his eyes. He left them both open, focusing hard but breathing carefully, and attained perfect headshots on every form. Then he looked to his son, nodding him forward.

Oliver's focus was off and he knew it. He missed three of his five shots and the last two hit the forms in the upper chest. He sighed, cursing slightly as his father stepped forward.

"Are you okay, Oliver?" He asked, patting his son on the shoulder. "You're never this off.

"I guess... I'm just a little tired. I was up late."

"What were you doing?"

"Writing..."

Benjamin sighed, rolling his eyes. "I knew I shouldn't have let Sae get you that damned journal. It's stealing your focus. Not to mention those painting classes you take---"

"I like painting." Oliver said sternly.

"Be that as it may." Benjamin reloaded the gun and gave it back to Oliver, leading him over to five new ones. "Focus on this. I want you to get five headshots like you always do. Whatever's on your mind, forget it. Forget it and focus on what's right in front of you and get your head out of whatever clouds it's in."

Oliver huffed, gritting his teeth and studying hard. He wanted to get it over with, and was frustrated at his father now. The man hated that Oliver painted and wrote, feeling it was a pastime unfit for his son, feeling it took his focus away from what was really important, and that shooting and wielding blades truly forced one to focus. Oliver couldn't help but imagine his father's face on the forms in front of him, and surprised himself when he hit the target every time. When Benjamin laughed, patting his back assuringly, Oliver didn't dare tell him about it. He was just glad when his father said it was time for breakfast and led him back upstairs.

Jean-Sal grew too restless to wait for Oliver at his camp. He joined the others in the city square, but decided to got up a random street, bringing his fiddle with him and playing for the people that were only just awakening in the city. He closed his eyes and smiled, jigging as he did when he played his fast-paced, happy songs. He would have played all day until Oliver came if it wasn't for a stern tapping on his shoulder. He started and opened his eyes, looking at the policeman who was glaring at him.

"No music in this part of the city. You can play your instrument in the square with your kind, but not in residential areas. People are trying to sleep and go to work. If I catch you here again, I'll be taking you to a nice, cosy cell."

Jean-Sal frowned, putting his fiddle down and looking at the man who now sneered at him. A sudden burst of rebellion coursed through him. He remembered his parents, how they got on the wrong side of a city's law and were killed for it. Only because they wanted to play music for the poor people of that city... He looked the man in the eye and played more of the song.

The policeman looked furious and pulled out a baton, whacking Jean-Sal with it, making him drop the fiddle and fall back. the policeman bet on him until a homeless man who was passing by intervened, pulling the law man off Jean-Sal and allowing him to run away, taking his broken fiddle with him. He didn't go to the square, not wanting the others to see his bruises and cuts, and the tears now running down his cheeks. He went straight out of the city gates, fleeing back to the camp and to his tent. He put his broken fiddle on the bed in front of him and cried, covering his face to stop the sight of the thing he treasured the most being broken.

Oliver barely ate at breakfast, despite everything being made carefully and to specific manners for each of them. His aunt regarded him worriedly, but his mother spoke first: "Oliver, are you feeling well? You seem rather quiet..."

"I'm fine, Mother... I just want to go." He sighed, dropping his fork and restlessly moving about. "I thought I could have the day to myself?"

His parents regarded one another, then nodded. "I suppose." Benjamin said. "But you come back home by six this evening, we have an extremely important event to go to and I don't want to hear an excuse about feeling ill keeping you back." He looked at Sae, and she smiled rather slyly, looking down at her own food. Oliver nodded, jumping up and forcing himself not to run out of the house, but the moment he was on the front step, he took off, sprinting toward the square. The booth Jean-Sal had taken up the previous day was empty, and Oliver stopped one young woman and asked about him.

"Oh, methinks I saw him run by just a while ago." She pointed toward the dome exit, and Oliver suddenly grew worried, feeling a cold ball of ice form in his chest as he followed the girl's direction. The gypsy camp was somewhat empty, with a few milling around, some animals meandering and holding their unknown conversations, but Oliver, despite not seeing the creatures up close or even in person before, ignored them and weaved through the tents, finding the one that belonged to Jean-Sal and stopping outside. There was barely a way to announce one's presence beyond either calling out or barging in, but it seemed quiet. He pulled back the flap, peering inside and gasping. "Jean-Sal!" He stepped in, feeling weak at the knees. The young man looked terrible, as if he had fallen down several flights of stairs. His beautiful fiddle had become oddly dented and cracked, and it broke Olive's heart a little more. "Jean... are you okay...?" He approached the young man, crouching beside his bed.

Jean-Sal was startled when Oliver appeared at his side, worrying about his broken state. He must have looked like he had come on the bad side of a bear, and of course Oliver would worry. But the pain and sadness seemed to simply melt away as soon as the man was touching him. He managed a smile and looked at his loved one with tear stained eyes. "Ah, nothing, I just... Well... It's what we have to suffer, unfortunately. I got smart to an officer. I deserved a hiding," he said, laughing softly. he looked down at his beloved fiddle and tried to hold back a sob. "We can fix it, it'll be fine," he said out loud, as if reassuring Oliver more than himself.

He grinned again and his tears stopped forming at once. There was no point crying over it. It was his fault after all, and the officer, even though he had reacted violently, had the right to uphold his law. "I just need to get cleaned up, is all."

Oliver gaped as if he couldn't believe it, but of course he could. The police of the upper districts were strict, and they especially disliked gypsies. If he had been there... Perhaps Jean-Sal would be fine now, and his fiddle wouldn't be wounded worse, even, than its owner. "No..." He sat on the edge of the bed, grasping Jean's face. "No... You look awful... You can't be fine, just fine, not after that... The officers get overzealous, he might have done a lot of harm..." His voice broke, and he blinked hard. "No... Look... I should have been there sooner. It wouldn't have happened then..." He bit his lip, forcing his voice to stay somewhat steady as he brushed Jean's hair back carefully. There was a dark bruise forming on his head, just under the hairline and beside his eye. He could almost feel it.

"Jean... your fiddle... I can fix it." He felt like he owed that much to the man. There was an obvious dent he could fix, and a crack he knew how to patch to where it wouldn't look like an injury, more like a beautiful formation that was meant to be there. "I paint, I can fix it. I know how important it is to you but... I just don't know why... Why did you get smart with the officer...?" He sighed, confused. Why had Jean risked himself like he had?

Jean-Sal sighed, taking Oliver's hands in his own. He could feel various bumps and bruises forming over his arms and face, and he knew the man could see them too. He was worrying so much about a gypsy, a stranger he barely knew. Oliver cared for him. Did he love him? Did Jean-Sal love him back? He sighed heavier and shook his hair, wiping the tears off his face. He wanted to have a shower, to get clean and let the cool water wash away his shame.

"No, please... I don't want to talk about that," he replied finally, referring to Oliver's question. It hurt too much to even think about his parents, let alone talk about them. People that lived with him knew it was risky mentioning his parents around him, and they never asked him questions that would make him mad or upset. He looked back at his fiddle, smiling a little that Oliver had offered to mend it. "Thank you. I know a few people here that could fix it, but I'd love to... For you to fix it. Then it would be a more beloved treasure than before."

Oliver paused, squeezing Jean's hands in his own. Perhaps the only things on the man that didn't ache now. "I don't..." He bit his lip. "I don't want to hurt you. No more than you are already. Maybe... when you think I should hear it." He looked up, pressing his forehead against Jean's so he could focus on the man, and not the injuries. The injuries were temporary, and would go away soon enough, would be hidden with a little makeup if he didn't want to see them. He closed his eyes, burning the image of Jean's hazel gaze into his mind. "But I'd love to fix your fiddle. If you have some sealant, and a little paint for me... I can fix the crack and handle the dent and maybe I won't ruin it." He winced at the thought. Oliver didn't think himself the best artist, but he felt acceptable.

"And while I do, you can clean yourself up... get rid of the... stink of that officer." He growled at the though, could barely stand to imagine what the man had done to Jean. And it was legal. All of it. Horrible.

Jean-Sal smiled and kissed Oliver. getting to his feet and going to a small drawer where he kept random things. He rifled through it, finding the things Oliver requested for and then leaving the tent. He went to the showers, avoiding anyone that might still be milling around the camp. He didn't feel much like explaining his bruises, not just yet.

He quickly showered and returned to his tent, naked and carrying his dirtied clothes. He found Oliver working on fixing his fiddle and smiled at him, going to where he kept his clothes. "Thank you so much, Ollie," he said, rifling through the basket and finding his work pants, laced white top and another jacket, this one made of wool and dyed red. He got into these clothes and joined the man, ruffling his hair up slightly. "You always look so immaculate," he commented, untying the ribbon from around his neck.

When he was left, Oliver looked through what was given, picking up various jars and taking the back to the bed to lie out, and finding several small brushes, using the sealant, a clear, thick substance, to cover the crack. He kept the wood pressed together to keep it solid and felt he would have to keep it together for a while afterward, until he found the tip of the brush stiffening quickly. He hurried, covering the crack inside and out, saving it. The dent he dampened, working the wood gently, glad to see there was no deformity to it afterward. The strings were still taut, and when he tuned and plucked them, Oliver was glad to hear they still had perfect pitch and tune.

Before Jean-Sal returned, Oliver began painting over the crack with thick green paint. It stood out well against the wood, and he smiled a little as he worked. Jean-Sal loved nature. The vines he painted would work well for his lifestyle, and he used light red and blue to paint flowers with the leaves. When the gypsy returned, Oliver paused to stare, though he'd been taught not to. It wasn't every day someone---especially someone he adored---walked about completely naked. He tore his gaze away after a moment, though, and smiled as Jean-Sal joined him. "I know." He sighed. "But if I did anything else, my family would go mental..." He put the lids back on the paint jars, holding up the fiddle to show off his handiwork. "What do you think?" He asked, hoping against hopw that Jean would at least like it. He tensed, waiting for the evaluation as Jean inspected it.

Jean-Sal lightly picked up his fiddle, being careful not to touch the paint. He studied the vines Oliver had painted on it, and smiled. "I love it," he replied, setting it back down to dry. "Thank you, so much." He hugged the man tightly, burying his face in his hair and sniffing in the man's beloved scent. There was just something about it, a clean and fragrant smell that Jean-Sal rarely smelt. It took him back to a troubled time in his life, but yet it comforted him at the same time.

He let the man go, still smiling and wondering how bad the bruises on his face looked. The camp only had a few mirrors and his tent didn't have one at all. He didn't care much for vanity. "So have I got you for the entire day?" he asked, still grinning and grasping Oliver's hands into his own.

Oliver was overjoyed to hear the positive critique---coming from a gypsy, whose life revolved around art, music, dance, and nature, it was as if he had received a glowing review from a king. He returned the tight hug, breathing in the natural, clean scent that clung to Jean-Sal and enjoying it all the more. It was never acceptable where he lived, where everything was shiny, pressed, and clean at all times. Pressing his hands against Jean's, Oliver inspected the man's face. There were a couple dark rounds where he had been hit, and it was painful to look at, no doubt worse to feel.

"You do." He smiled, shaking his hair out of both eyes and leaning forward a bit. "All day long, and we won't be interrupted." His parents had things to do---had to prepare for the dinner party he would have to go to with them and his aunt. He dreaded having to break away before six in the evening, but didn't take what time he had for granted. "You'll show me the forest, won't you?" He asked, with a begging expression in his eyes. "I've wanted to go for so long... and with someone to show me." With Jean-Sal, it wouldn't be lonely like he feared it would be if he ran off on his own to explore. "And I have... ah... something to show you when we get out there." He indicated the book on his belt, hoping to show Jean what he had drawn last night.

Jean-Sal grinned and nodded at Oliver's question, glad that the man seemed interested in exploring with him. He had yet to look around in this forest, and wondered what kind of treasures it held. He got to his feet, and pulled Oliver up, spinning him around like a ballerina. He kissed him again, before taking his hand and leading him out of his tent.

The animals that littered the camp site had escaped from their pens somehow. Jean-Sal guessed the farmer had forgotten to lock the gates. He knew they wouldn't run away from their home, but he still didn't trust them to be out in harm's way. He looked to Oliver before running to round them up. A couple of pigs grunted when he herded them back into their sty and the chickens went berserk. He slipped in some mud and fell to the ground, laughing heavily at himself as a speckled hen fluttered away from him and came to a rest in front of Oliver.

Jean-Sal's love of life was always so evident in every move he made, Oliver felt another pang of jealousy as he was led out of the tent and into the fresh, real air of the world and not the dome. He wanted to feel that same freedom, but had to bottle it up to appear 'presentable' for his family and their kind. Why was he so different? Why couldn't he just be happy with what he was born into like his family and their friends? His aunt Sae seemed like a free soul too, but able to easier handle the conformity.

He gasped at the animals, and when he was left by Jean while the man went to lead them back to their pens, Oliver stepped around and almost hit an apple tree, backing away from it so he wasn't in the way. He didn't know how to handle most animals, but when a dark, speckled hen fluttered toward him, Oliver acted without fear. Hens were a well-known animal in the dome, and roosters as well, some even kept as pets and many paraded around in shows like dogs and cats. This one was a little more wild than the rest, and flapped a bit in surprise before Oliver was able to pin its wings carefully and hold onto it comfortably. "I think you lost one." He stepped around to Jean, offering the calmed hen with a meek smile.

Jean-Sal giggled, getting back onto his feet and taking the hen from Oliver. He placed her back into her coup with the other hens and rooster, and wiped the dirt off his pants. "No idea how they all got out, luckily the cattle are still in their pen," he commented, nodding towards the brown animals in the makeshift pen next to the camp. Their fur was shaggy and each one had long horns on their heads. Despite their scary appearance, they were all cows and were the most gentle creatures Jean-Sal had ever worked with. He remembered Oliver mentioning farmland in the dome and asked him what kind of animals they kept.

Oliver brushed the tiny feathers off his hand, which seemed to shed when he picked up the hen, and looked to where Jean-Sal was referring to. He knew what they were, cows of course, but they were huge and intimidating no matter how gentle they were. "I... I've never seen animals that stand larger than knee-height before." Olive admitted, shifting a little and going forward, just enough to inspect the creatures. He'd seen pictures of them, because the creatures were considered filthy and unfit for the city, but they had apparently changed over the years and the pictures were terribly outdated. These cows were larger, with thick fur. "Animals there... in the farmland, I mean, in the areas just outside the dome and protected by high gates... they keep cows too. Only they're shaved because the temperatures there are kept very moderate. And hens and roosters, of course. And pigs, a few goats, and some horses. I mean, it depends on the farm's owners, really, what they keep."

He shrugged, leaning on the fence and breathing in carefully. The animal scent wasn't unpleasant. "Other farms don't keep animals at all, but instead just grow crops." He breathed in again, but this time let it out in a sigh. "Really... uniform." He muttered.

Jean-Sal joined him on the fence, listening to him talk. He seemed a bit apprehensive around the larger animals. It was a shame there were no horses in the camp just now. They were in the city, giving rides to the children and older people who paid to ride. Horses were larger than cows and elegant, beautiful to watch run and jump. Jean-Sal didn't know how to ride himself, but he heard it was an interesting experience.

He bent down and grabbed a fistful of grass, holding out his hand as a cow came over to investigate. They were naturally curious creatures, and never shied away from strangers. It ate the grass from his hand and he petted its thick fur. "Here, you can pat her. Just don't do any quick movements, you might startle her." He grabbed Oliver's hand and placed it gently on the cow's head, just above her nose.

Oliver felt an apprehensive twinge tighten in his chest, but he trusted Jean-Sal enough not to shrink away when his hand was directed to the cow's head, and immediately smiled, feeling a warm sense of familiarity. Like he had done this before. "Yeah..." He grinned, running his hand along the cow's fur, smoothing it down where it was raised. "Yeah... I've never been able to touch one... I mean, I could never get near them, let alone touch them." He followed Jean's direction, not moving quickly but not speaking loudly at the same time.

"Maybe I can convince my parents to let me around them... or horses." He said after a moment. He often looked outside the dome at the riders, and always felt jealous. "Could ride... That'd be nice." He pulled back, looking at Jean. "You're... so lucky to be around all these things every day. I'd give up everything if I could." He sighed, leaning on the fence a bit more and smiling at the cow. It was simple, but without it, life would be much harder.

"I guess I never really thought about how some people have never even seen a living cow, let alone touched one," he replied, scratching the hair on his chin. He'd need to buy some razors soon, he reminded himself. It seemed since he had met Oliver, he had forgotten most of his plans for Vespar. "Just like a lot of people have never seen the ocean, or even a river..."

He jumped down from the fence and turned to face the forest, its large and ancient trees seemed to call to him. "Are you ready for an adventure?" he asked Oliver, looking over at the man with a grin.

Oliver followed Jean automatically, and nodded quickly. "Of course I am!" He laughed, grasping Jean's hand and pulling him close. "I've wanted to find an adventure for a long time." He smiled at the gypsy, and it took all his self control not to sprint away. The trees that surrounded the domed city were huge, thick, possibly the largest formations he'd ever seen, regardless of natural make or human construction. They towered over the dome, even, which had taken a long time to build he had been told. "I've always wondered what was in there..." Dark, green, natural colors and smells and flowers he'd never seen before. And danger, perhaps, if he wasn't careful.

Jean-Sal laughed at Oliver's enthusiasm, starting towards the thick canopy of trees. He held onto Oliver's hand until they reached the start of the trees. He peered passed the trunk and breathed in deeply, smelling the earthy smell he loved so much.

"Before we go in, I need to warn you to stay close. Don't touch anything without asking me first, don't eat anything and don't run ahead, OK?" Even though most forests were harmful, there were still many poisonous things scattered about the forest floor. "If you see an animal of any sort, stay still and I can tell you if it is dangerous or not." The last thing he wanted was for Oliver to be bitten by a snake or worse. He grinned and squeezed Oliver's hand. "I hope I haven't scared you."

He pulled the man into the forest, climbing over large roots that almost made a wall around the trees. He stopped just below a large oak and grinned, pointing up at the branches. Red squirrels climbed up and down the tree, finding acorns and scurrying away from the humans below them. "Squirrels."

He knew the dangers, nodding along while Jean spoke. He wasn't entirely clueless to the concept of danger, especially in a place he was unfamiliar with. But his schooling didn't go to waste. He knew what various things were, and once they were in the trees, he smiled a little. Squirrels. He'd read about them. "It's nearing winter, isn't it?" He asked. "They'll be going into hibernation soon I'd think." Their homes, within the trees, would be their bed for the next several months if he wasn't mistaken. He looked around, spying creeping vines nearby. "Ivy... Not poison oak I believe." He stepped forward. They had smooth-looking single leaves and sprouted small white flowers. "I learned about various forms of nature from my tutors... I know some things, but not others."

He stepped onto a thick tree root and looked around. "I don't know those flowers, though." He indicated dark red-petal flowers that blanketed the area. "Those are safe, right?" They let off a wonderfully sweet scent, but he'd never seen them before.