Oh, you say you have to fall apart to really be someone
You could lose yourself in anything. In the blue of the sky, or the vastness of a rolling ocean, or the simple yet profound sensation of digging into sunwarm soil. The texture of it, sandy and dry at the top but darker, damper and cooler the further down she delved. She could smell it too. All but tasted the richness of the mulch on her tongue, traces of verdure and mildew, life and death mingling into a perfume that sent her head spinning. Digging was simple work, and a refuge for one who frequently needed something to ground herself with whenever she couldn't stand her own company, and the tiger might have kept going until the entire hillside was dug out, had the courier not called out to stop her.
Almost reluctantly she backed up from the hole in the ground. Dark half moons remained beneath her sharp fingernails when she shifted back, while something stormy and painful brewed in the gaze that turned to look at the man who asked for her name. He who asked no questions, who had yet to reveal what kind of judgement he passed on heretics and murderers.
Not that she cared what he thought. Not that she didn't care. Would that she could make up her own mind and be even half as cold and indifferent as she looked.
"Maea Valair. From the Hollowed Grounds." As if that wasn't obvious already.
It was harder to do anything now. She thought she ought to help him plant the rose, still, but approaching him now that he had scraped up lines on his arms was difficult. That was her fault, probably. The wilting leaves on the shrub, too - she should have thought of that. Beside her foot a patch of grass smoldered beneath a clump of cherry red steel; Maea stepped on it until the embers went out, wrestling with the weight of guilt in her gut. For making this so much more difficult than it ought to be. For being the one who was getting overwhelmed even though she shouldn't let the ghostly vision get to her. For... gods, if she even knew all the things that made her feel guilty. Breathing in general?
"... water. Might be good. For the rose." Half shrugging off the pack from her back, she dug out a bulging water-skin. It gave her an excuse not to look at the man, or the dragon, or any of the charred vegetation that marred the flowery fields in a circle around her.
Almost reluctantly she backed up from the hole in the ground. Dark half moons remained beneath her sharp fingernails when she shifted back, while something stormy and painful brewed in the gaze that turned to look at the man who asked for her name. He who asked no questions, who had yet to reveal what kind of judgement he passed on heretics and murderers.
Not that she cared what he thought. Not that she didn't care. Would that she could make up her own mind and be even half as cold and indifferent as she looked.
"Maea Valair. From the Hollowed Grounds." As if that wasn't obvious already.
It was harder to do anything now. She thought she ought to help him plant the rose, still, but approaching him now that he had scraped up lines on his arms was difficult. That was her fault, probably. The wilting leaves on the shrub, too - she should have thought of that. Beside her foot a patch of grass smoldered beneath a clump of cherry red steel; Maea stepped on it until the embers went out, wrestling with the weight of guilt in her gut. For making this so much more difficult than it ought to be. For being the one who was getting overwhelmed even though she shouldn't let the ghostly vision get to her. For... gods, if she even knew all the things that made her feel guilty. Breathing in general?
"... water. Might be good. For the rose." Half shrugging off the pack from her back, she dug out a bulging water-skin. It gave her an excuse not to look at the man, or the dragon, or any of the charred vegetation that marred the flowery fields in a circle around her.
