the things we hold are always the first to go
It was done - apparently. It was over. Finished. They were cured, or they were getting there at least. So why did Ronin feel so heavy, so terrible?
His boots crunched beneath the snow and icy twigs of the glade, the hunter’s breath clouding the air before him as he approached the stone circle. With him he carried his offering for Safrin - a rolled parchment, containing a sketch that had been painstaking given that each star had been copied exactly as it should have been in the sky the night he’d drawn it.
This, alongside a few candles which flickered feebly in the Deepfrost wind, lending light to the otherwise pitch darkness, would have to do. Ronin settled on his knees before the shrine, his head bowed, his eyes closed. ”Safrin,” he said quietly. ”Safrin, there is... my heart is heavy. May I speak with you?”
His boots crunched beneath the snow and icy twigs of the glade, the hunter’s breath clouding the air before him as he approached the stone circle. With him he carried his offering for Safrin - a rolled parchment, containing a sketch that had been painstaking given that each star had been copied exactly as it should have been in the sky the night he’d drawn it.
This, alongside a few candles which flickered feebly in the Deepfrost wind, lending light to the otherwise pitch darkness, would have to do. Ronin settled on his knees before the shrine, his head bowed, his eyes closed. ”Safrin,” he said quietly. ”Safrin, there is... my heart is heavy. May I speak with you?”
