There she is, walking along, collecting shells. She smiles, the blonde oddlet, as though all is right with the world, as though there is no such thing as war. Dean watches, unable to turn away. He's fascinated by Luna, drawn to her, and he can't quite explain it. She is daft, mental, strange. Everything about her, from the radishes dangling from her ears to the imaginary creatures she chases, screams for others to keep their distance, to proceed with caution when called upon. But Dean has the eye of an artist, and he can see that she is simply beautiful.