Spira

Seated in the dark, on the outside of the group - there had been an unsaid but firmly stuck to agreement that Aerith was never positioned on the fringe of the camp when they settled for the night - Saix looked content. The stew was starting to smell appetising, and with only the firelight to see by the night's sky was peppered with stars, splashed across the dark like Saix remembered his school paintings of the night sky seeming when they'd been done with a toothbrush in white paint and flicked with a piece of card. The moon wasn't full, but its odd crescent lent enough light to the landscape that the river was a silver ribbon on the landscape, and the desert sands were an expanse of pale luminescence and shifting shadows from the fire.

He enjoyed this. He was with the people that mattered, and away from the ones that mattered in unfortunate ways, in an environment he enjoyed. It was growing cold, and he wouldn't object to the creature comforts of a bed, and a shower, and washing machines, and not requiring chocobos to get around, but on the whole this was... pleasant.

His face showed it, too. Saix's expression was serene in a way it very rarely was as he looked out across the sands, watching for shifting shadows that were more than moving light or tricks of the eyes in the darkness.