Liam
I just want one more chance
Most days, Liam was a fairly optimistic kind of man. He hated having lost his family, of course, but he also knew that he could live for them rather than drown in their memories. As such, he tried to be kind. Friendly. Helpful.
Today was not one of those days.
The soldier sat beneath a tree beside the river, a bottle of whiskey in hand. He stared out over the water as he took a healthy swig, enjoying the way it burned on the way down. The Fae made great whiskey, but he could hardly taste the flavor; his mind was elsewhere, trapped in a nightmare that he couldn’t escape.
He’d dreamed of his family last night. Of the attack on Stormbreak and the aftermath, when he’d been sorting through the rubble and found their mangled bodies. No one should have to find their loved ones that way; it had been a cruel twist of fate that it had been him, and now the memories haunted him endlessly. Time had brought many of his nightmares to an end, but even now, he woke up some nights screaming, his bedsheets twisted around his legs and his chest heaving as though he’d run a marathon. He always knew it was going to be a bad day after that.
So this morning he’d fled into the forest. He didn’t drink often, but when he did, it was in an attempt to erase the past, to burn the searing images from his mind.
It never worked.
Today was not one of those days.
The soldier sat beneath a tree beside the river, a bottle of whiskey in hand. He stared out over the water as he took a healthy swig, enjoying the way it burned on the way down. The Fae made great whiskey, but he could hardly taste the flavor; his mind was elsewhere, trapped in a nightmare that he couldn’t escape.
He’d dreamed of his family last night. Of the attack on Stormbreak and the aftermath, when he’d been sorting through the rubble and found their mangled bodies. No one should have to find their loved ones that way; it had been a cruel twist of fate that it had been him, and now the memories haunted him endlessly. Time had brought many of his nightmares to an end, but even now, he woke up some nights screaming, his bedsheets twisted around his legs and his chest heaving as though he’d run a marathon. He always knew it was going to be a bad day after that.
So this morning he’d fled into the forest. He didn’t drink often, but when he did, it was in an attempt to erase the past, to burn the searing images from his mind.
It never worked.
To put my arms in fragile hands
Table inspired by the lovely Skylark <3
