// somebody told me that there's two sides to this life //
She was headed out. Off, gone, away - like a race horse bolting from its pen the moment dawn's first light hit the horizon. Maea never recalled Longnight being that fucking long in all her years, nor did she think she'd ever come out of it in worse condition. Sleep deprived, hungry and fed up on the sight, scent, smell and feel of people anywhere near herself, she had fled back to the house and dropped into bed like a dead. Later, when she recalled her own name again and had sated the worst of her hunger on an unfortunate hare, she began to pack a bag.
In the time it took her to travel from one end of the region to the other, she did some thinking. A lot of it, in fact, and most of it circled around abstract notions of duty, honor, respect and other topics that no doubt would have Danta scoffing and Asta rolling his eyes, but which were important to her and had everything to do with both of them. What they were, what she was, and perhaps more importantly what they were to her. It had been easy to say that she wanted nothing to do with them. But by the time she reached the port town and felt the damp of the sea and tasted salt on the wind, she had already begun to miss them.
It seemed ironic that the tall, dark figure of the Butcher came into view almost as soon as she'd spotted a ship making ready to head out. Stopping in a street corner, Maea gazed hesitantly between the unfurling sails and Asta, who diligently kept tossing trash onto a blazing bonfire. Snowmelt dripped from rooftops, and trees, trickling and dripping along streets and freezing into slick patches in the shade, only to melt again in the bright sunlight. It left much of the Deepfrost debris sodden and unwilling to burn - and she didn't know whether she wanted to run for the hills or linger for a day more to help him.
Somehow, she doubted that he even wanted her help.
Making up her mind, Maea approached the man with the bag slung over her shoulder, skirts held above the soggy ground with one hand. "Asta? Can I have a moment?" If not, she would keep going. It was up to him.
In the time it took her to travel from one end of the region to the other, she did some thinking. A lot of it, in fact, and most of it circled around abstract notions of duty, honor, respect and other topics that no doubt would have Danta scoffing and Asta rolling his eyes, but which were important to her and had everything to do with both of them. What they were, what she was, and perhaps more importantly what they were to her. It had been easy to say that she wanted nothing to do with them. But by the time she reached the port town and felt the damp of the sea and tasted salt on the wind, she had already begun to miss them.
It seemed ironic that the tall, dark figure of the Butcher came into view almost as soon as she'd spotted a ship making ready to head out. Stopping in a street corner, Maea gazed hesitantly between the unfurling sails and Asta, who diligently kept tossing trash onto a blazing bonfire. Snowmelt dripped from rooftops, and trees, trickling and dripping along streets and freezing into slick patches in the shade, only to melt again in the bright sunlight. It left much of the Deepfrost debris sodden and unwilling to burn - and she didn't know whether she wanted to run for the hills or linger for a day more to help him.
Somehow, she doubted that he even wanted her help.
Making up her mind, Maea approached the man with the bag slung over her shoulder, skirts held above the soggy ground with one hand. "Asta? Can I have a moment?" If not, she would keep going. It was up to him.
Maea
// I think I might've chosen darkness over light //
