A/N: For the Globetrotter Drabble Comp II (1/20, Amsterdam, write about artistic inspiration)
He had believed that the war had taken away his creativity.
Every night on the run, he had huddled against the dying fire, sketchbook and quill in hand, willing himself to draw. Nothing had come out. Only horrible scribbles and angry slashes of ink across the page.
Dean had lost it.
But now he watches her, her messy blonde hair flying in the wind as her bare feet dig into the sand. He watches the waves roll in behind her, the salty water lapping at her toes.
He watches, and for the first time in months, Dean feels that old spark as his muse stirs back to life.
He rests his sketchbook on his knees, dragging the quill along, trying to immortalize Luna forever within the pages.
It is rough and jagged, not quite as free as his art had once been.
But it is a start.