who we are and all that we're trying to be
There were a myriad of other places the General could’ve been: but action took precedence over moping and gauging himself into the earth, but promises, convictions, and quiet resolutions took credence over the hollowed-out shapes of his carnivorous vessel. He’d toiled back and forth for days on end now, and for some reason the voice calling out over to him did nothing to shirk him out of that carved out nuance. The depths of his eyes wandered from the branches and to Wessex, standing within ruins as if she owned them, and maybe she did, maybe they all had stark rise and falls of the ancient monoliths, took turns feeding into the beliefs that they were nothing. “Wessex,” he acknowledged in his own quiet assertion, a nod between warriors; a blank canvas of ruminations and motions, maneuvering beneath another fold of brambles and fronds, before deciding to explain his actions. He’d caught the inquiry there, laden in tucked silence and fortitude.
“I need a leaf for a quest from Safrin. For Amalia.” He didn’t really care if the goddess’s name bit down onto layers of acrimony or strife, didn’t really care how many times he’d uttered the same phrases over and over again, didn’t really how care how foolish he looked, staring into canopies as if they were lifelines and tethers. “One almost dead.” Withered and decayed, the slightest amount of life remaining. As if that made any more sense than anything else.
It takes dying to know
How to live as ghosts
