Theea
I open my mouth to correct him with something like ’I mean, I wasn’t that lost.,’ or ’Despite what I said, I wasn’t afraid, thanks.’ I bite my tongue instead—he’s being nice. I don’t need to be defensive mom. ”Not a shade is good, sopping or not,” I half-laugh instead.
I stop fishing around in my bag and watch him lay out his supplies—candles, flowers, incense—offerings? This little tree is nothing particularly beautiful, at least not in the conventional sense. The woods certainly aren’t (though it does have its own sort of charm). I can’t imagine what would bring him out here beside a god or a grave. The question nearly bursts out of me before he turns and introduces himself, and I try to be assured that he isn’t put off by the broken lantern.
”Nikki,” I repeat, nodding, and then chuckle, cheeks warm. ”Right. Of course the wagon trail is right there.” If mom is watching, she’s banging her head against a tree. I feel the impulse to myself.
Everything is fine. I’m figuring it out.
Adjusting the dark hood of my jacket, I approach. I study the tree for a moment, and the things he’s laid out. ”With two people, you could probably light those things,” I offer, “even if just for a bit.” I crouch down then, large bag braced on my knees as I start to pull free my rolled up blanket. It’ll dry, and if I can get myself to a settlement then I can—
Not find a place to stay. Right. Broke.
Everything is fine.
”I can shield things from the rain.”
I stop fishing around in my bag and watch him lay out his supplies—candles, flowers, incense—offerings? This little tree is nothing particularly beautiful, at least not in the conventional sense. The woods certainly aren’t (though it does have its own sort of charm). I can’t imagine what would bring him out here beside a god or a grave. The question nearly bursts out of me before he turns and introduces himself, and I try to be assured that he isn’t put off by the broken lantern.
”Nikki,” I repeat, nodding, and then chuckle, cheeks warm. ”Right. Of course the wagon trail is right there.” If mom is watching, she’s banging her head against a tree. I feel the impulse to myself.
Everything is fine. I’m figuring it out.
Adjusting the dark hood of my jacket, I approach. I study the tree for a moment, and the things he’s laid out. ”With two people, you could probably light those things,” I offer, “even if just for a bit.” I crouch down then, large bag braced on my knees as I start to pull free my rolled up blanket. It’ll dry, and if I can get myself to a settlement then I can—
Not find a place to stay. Right. Broke.
Everything is fine.
”I can shield things from the rain.”
welcome to the world of pretend
where we pretend we don't feel pain
where we pretend we don't feel pain
