sorry about the blood in your mouth, i wish it was mine
The very edges of the Grounds are the furthest Nate has dared ventured since coming back to life. It’s not fear that roots him, necessarily, though it’s almost impossible to not think of the consequences. He leans pressed against the trunk of a tree facing the ragged start of the rolling prairies of Kings End.
He’s trying to focus, very hard, on a little house close enough to the ocean to hear the waves. Of a garden growing dormant in the chill. Of a harvest, and a birthday that he missed.
“And for fucking what?” His boot strikes a packed ball of snow, shattering it in an unsatisfying plume of powder. A sigh heaves out him as he slides down the tree trunk, landing his ass on the cold ground. Nate squints out into the horizon, focusing on nothing in particular as the sun sinks lower and lower.
He’s trying to focus, very hard, on a little house close enough to the ocean to hear the waves. Of a garden growing dormant in the chill. Of a harvest, and a birthday that he missed.
“And for fucking what?” His boot strikes a packed ball of snow, shattering it in an unsatisfying plume of powder. A sigh heaves out him as he slides down the tree trunk, landing his ass on the cold ground. Nate squints out into the horizon, focusing on nothing in particular as the sun sinks lower and lower.
i couldn't get the boy to kill me
but i wore his jacket for the longest time
NATE
