Home, to Aren, was a small house at the outskirts of the city. It was dull and nondescript, nothing one would expect Nayru's chosen to live in. But, hey, it was still home.
Stumbling in and blindly kicking off his shoes, Aren glanced around the dark room he'd entered. By day, one could see the countless vivid paintings and sketches he'd crafted. It was rather stunning, Aren had to admit. But by night, the place was about as easy to cross as a minefield. Not to mention that he was more tired than he wanted to believe. It took Aren a curse-laden ten minutes that felt like a century to make it to his bed, where he promptly collapsed and passed out without a second thought.
((Aaah, my posts are still waaay too formal... Gah, how do I amend that?))