You are the night-time fear
And like that, their course is charted. The last pieces of his plan fall into place. He wishes it would bring with it a sense of rightness, as if it would realign his disjointed world, but it doesn't do anything except give him something to actually do instead of stare at little trees.He's a mixture of carefully laid plans and utter, reckless wildness—he wants to know what he's doing, where he's going, what comes tomorrow, yet he loves to brave the storms and feel the winds undo his long braid, to leap off edges where he is not sure he can catch himself safely. Perhaps one is a reaction to the other.
He follows without hesitation, slipping into motion in that curious way of his: he somehow skips from one state to another without transition. He ripples in her wake, following the path she forges through crowds and houses as the last of the daylight fades and leaves the world crisp and dark.
More and more he thinks he must've been here at some point, but—
What happened to it? The rebuilt, populated quarters taper off into ruins and silence much too soon, and that dark, broken tower looms like a constant reminder of everything that is wrong. He doesn't like it. He doesn't like the twisted and parched shapes of the leafless trees, weighed down by fresh snow.
He says nothing. Grits his teeth and follows his barefoot guide, studying her prints as they go further, where no one has yet disturbed the ground.
You are the morning when it's clear
AAMU
