Aamu
He's always out there, isn't he?
When he isn't digging his soot-stained fingers into charred beams and broken bodies, neatly packing away the evidence of the havoc they wreaked and replacing it with something new, something fresh. It could've felt like clearing away yesteryear's leaves to let this year's sprouts into the sunlight, but it feels more like digging an unmarked grave and trying to cover your tracks.
He has no wings this time, so he has gone tirelessly under the stars and sought refuge in the shadows of day, and he has wandered aimlessly around the Barrows, laid in Meadowreach and felt the weak dawn sun touch his skin until he itched and blistered, and paid his respects in the gentle quiet of Mourn.
He doesn't want to go back.
He knows he has to, at some point. He cares for little but Mabel and Isla, but duty bound him and duty buried him and duty raised him again. He cannot stay away.
He watches as the sun sinks beyond the horizon, as the sky turns blush and vermillion and everything seems steeped in its bloody glow; he slips from the shadows and stands in its dying light.
And in the way of some unicorns, and a starwhale.
It's one of those moments where Aamu would just have blurted out what? if he wasn't so morose. Instead he just blinks in confusion, peering at the equines and their strange not-quite-equine four-footed friend, and the floating whale. Wonders what brought them so close to him. Smiles sadly at their seeming nervous regret at having done so. "I did not mean to interrupt," he says (quiet, gentle) while slowly spreading his hands in a helpless and placating gesture.
When he isn't digging his soot-stained fingers into charred beams and broken bodies, neatly packing away the evidence of the havoc they wreaked and replacing it with something new, something fresh. It could've felt like clearing away yesteryear's leaves to let this year's sprouts into the sunlight, but it feels more like digging an unmarked grave and trying to cover your tracks.
He has no wings this time, so he has gone tirelessly under the stars and sought refuge in the shadows of day, and he has wandered aimlessly around the Barrows, laid in Meadowreach and felt the weak dawn sun touch his skin until he itched and blistered, and paid his respects in the gentle quiet of Mourn.
He doesn't want to go back.
He knows he has to, at some point. He cares for little but Mabel and Isla, but duty bound him and duty buried him and duty raised him again. He cannot stay away.
He watches as the sun sinks beyond the horizon, as the sky turns blush and vermillion and everything seems steeped in its bloody glow; he slips from the shadows and stands in its dying light.
And in the way of some unicorns, and a starwhale.
It's one of those moments where Aamu would just have blurted out what? if he wasn't so morose. Instead he just blinks in confusion, peering at the equines and their strange not-quite-equine four-footed friend, and the floating whale. Wonders what brought them so close to him. Smiles sadly at their seeming nervous regret at having done so. "I did not mean to interrupt," he says (quiet, gentle) while slowly spreading his hands in a helpless and placating gesture.
Through the streets and the houses of gods you roam
and on their altars you lay your heart of stone
and on their altars you lay your heart of stone
