Counting thoughts

M  A   E    A I talked to God to no avail Said, "If you won't save me, please don't waste my time." No, probably not cruelty. But if asked about it later, Maea would probably admit that it was a bit satisfying. To be the good samaritan, doing her moral duty towards the poor fallen hero. Oh, there was so much pent up resentment going on here. Crushed hopes, shattered dreams, injured pride and scars of the soul poorly healed. The kind that ached when the weather took a turn for the worse, and that you'd rant about to a stranger over a drink. So petty. So very bitter. The hard part was realizing that while it felt good to nurse those old hurts, it was high time to move on. Grow up, get on with life, see if something of the good could be salvaged amidst the ruins. Maybe that's why she was here. To see if the two of them stood a chance at making peace. Start over. "I got lost in a storm," Maea told her, matter of factly. "Hazy with fever, I went out into the woods. Lost the path, got turned around in the dark, in the wind, in the rain... That's what I remember, at least. When it cleared, I stood alone on the tundra, with not a soul in sight." Scratching the side of her nose, she considered it all. It was absurd, really. Walking into a forest and out of a blizzard, and somewhere in the middle a year disappeared without a trace. Read like a bedtime story for children. 'Maea and the Storm'. Laughable, really. Except she didn't feel like laughing, when so much had happened during those gone days. "You've been busy meanwhile, I hear. I've heard your name everywhere since I came back. The Shield. Queen of the Hollowed Grounds. Sounds like the stories we used to hear when we were little. Do you remember?" Maea leaned her chin on the palm of her hand, eyes touching on Amalia for a moment before drifting off to the rest of the room.