and I've only got my brittle bones to break the fall
He spies Henry: does a double-take, as the young man he had admired before LongNight seems gone, replaced with grief. His face is haunted by something, marked by lack of sleep, and Aamu wonders what's happened. What—how much—he's lost.But now's not the time. Aamu retreats to the armory, content to be alone, unsure what he would say. He's in no position to offer anything, neither consolation nor apologies. It's better this way, just him and the burnt-out beams, the cracked shingles, the fucking debris—
He's in no rush. Works slowly, surely, meticulously on removing the collapsed roof. It offers no judgment, no encouragement, it just is and he's glad to focus on it. To forget, if only for a bit.
Aamu keeps on cleanin'
Aamu
