A/N: Well here's Photo No. 2. Please review and tell me what you think.
The first things you notice are his eyes, so big and blue, as though they are trying to outshine the sky. But the horror in them isn't at all like the heavens, which are so serene and peaceful today. And he has reason to be aghast. A second ago he had been rushing to save the dark-haired man; now he is frozen as the man saves himself with a burst of magic. His own blond hair is plastered to his forehead in his exertion, only moving slightly in the wind. A second ago the wind had been so welcome, but now it was chilly and cutting. His own sword, which he always holds at that ready, suddenly feels like a deadweight in his arms. His lips are curled up, showing his teeth, but not in a smile. The look on his face says it all: the disbelief, the fear, the dawning hurt. But for now he just stands. And he stares.
Just a few feet from him, the sorcerer is halfway through turning around. He cannot see the blond man yet, but somehow he knows that someone is there. He can tell something is wrong. Perhaps the trees are whispering it to him in their dry voices as their leaves dance in the wind and brush against each other. His eyes are not gold and they are not yet blue, but his face is still pale and still determined. He knows something is wrong, but he doesn't know what. In a second, he will finish turning, and his worst fear will be realized, and part of him knows it. He is in no hurry, though, and so he turns as a tree grows: slowly.