HENRY
Henry's return to the Grounds is worse than he could have ever expected.
He hurries along that dirt road that leads to the farm, but when he can't see that familiar rise of the roof from the barn, his heart clenches in his throat. His pace quickens, until it's a full on run.
He only stops when he reaches the entrance, that stone path which once wound and led its way up to a charming little farmhouse. Only, now... it's just a stone path with no destination. But his feet carry him onward in spite of it anyway.
The farm is gone. Everything is gone. It looks as if it's been burned to the ground because it has. Even the dust is blackened by a healthy layer of soot. His breath clouds in his throat until it comes out in pained gasps, his face twisting into an expression of disbelief. This is worst-nightmares-come-true.
"No..." it's a whisper against the destruction and war that's been raged against the land, everything a mess of ash and burnt remains. A single plank of wood, soft and flaky in his grasp, is all he dares to touch. "No," this one is more pained, louder, as if it might make a difference. He slumps to the ground, where he remains for a long time.
It's impossibly hard to lose everything you have, everything you ever were. His heart breaks into a million pieces and he can feel it physically bore a hole in his chest. Nothing would have survived a fire like this... nothing but bones. But he doesn't want to look for them. He knows the truth without having to see it.
He hurries along that dirt road that leads to the farm, but when he can't see that familiar rise of the roof from the barn, his heart clenches in his throat. His pace quickens, until it's a full on run.
He only stops when he reaches the entrance, that stone path which once wound and led its way up to a charming little farmhouse. Only, now... it's just a stone path with no destination. But his feet carry him onward in spite of it anyway.
The farm is gone. Everything is gone. It looks as if it's been burned to the ground because it has. Even the dust is blackened by a healthy layer of soot. His breath clouds in his throat until it comes out in pained gasps, his face twisting into an expression of disbelief. This is worst-nightmares-come-true.
"No..." it's a whisper against the destruction and war that's been raged against the land, everything a mess of ash and burnt remains. A single plank of wood, soft and flaky in his grasp, is all he dares to touch. "No," this one is more pained, louder, as if it might make a difference. He slumps to the ground, where he remains for a long time.
It's impossibly hard to lose everything you have, everything you ever were. His heart breaks into a million pieces and he can feel it physically bore a hole in his chest. Nothing would have survived a fire like this... nothing but bones. But he doesn't want to look for them. He knows the truth without having to see it.
wherever you run, you see all you leave behind you
lies inside anyone you open
lies inside anyone you open
