S E I J I
Today, Seiji thinks of doors. He struggles, as always, to remember what brought him to this place. But his head is a jumble of things: sunlight and rain, crashing waves and bald-faced rocks, sunlight through feathers and rain on a glistening street. Maybe he ought to focus more on the present, or even the future (the looming shadow of Longnight) but he feels the past like a hole in his mouth. He wants to touch it. To explore its edges, define its shape, understand what used to be inside of it. If he finds anything useful while he does so, well.... It's possible, isn't it?
So he moves across the desolation of the winter fields. The first sad apple tree he passes by without considering its branches for fruit. His feet crunch through snow, and more flakes fall in a steady, silent rush. They catch in his hair like stars. Despite the stinging cold of the winter air against his face, the sight of his breath like a ghost before him, he keeps moving. He might have better luck in the wood, but with the days so short, he fears losing his way between the trees. So it's here he moves, looking for... something. A door, maybe. But not like the sort found in a house. Like the sort which might open to another world. A better world. Home.
He finds no such thing.
Afternoon is waning on, and still he wanders. The faint, buzzing static of a headache has begun somewhere just behind his eyes. He ignores it. The cold air moves like a fistful of knives into his lungs, and he ignores that, too, though he can feel his limbs growing tired. He ought to turn around. Or — he ought never have come out. He has other things to do. Realistic things.
It's the glow of the luxere which catches his eye. There in peripheral: a whole group of them, quietly grazing, digging up what they can from the snow. Seiji pauses. He could try to approach. He has a withered apple in his pocket. He had brought it for a snack, one of a bunch he gathered in these fields earlier, but the luxere are supposed to be benevolent. He is probably better served offering it to them, and finding food elsewhere in the settlement. Maybe it will charm them, and they'll follow him when he turns back, so the glow of their antlers can help ward off the darkness when it comes. Seiji likes the idea of that. Of this selfish little errand turning out something worthwhile, in the end.
So he approaches them slowly. Carefully. His footsteps are soft, as usual. The luxere stir and snort, their breaths, too pluming in the cold. Seiji reaches into his pocket and wraps his fingers around the apple. Fearful of startling them, he drops into a low stance, almost a crouch, and moves to stand beside a nearby tree. His fingertips reach up to press against the bark. But then he looks — down — looks at it properly. And forgets the deer.
With a cry, he leaps back. There's a man sitting there. Or — something like a man. The strangest man Seiji has ever seen. A man with a pale white face. Something about the face is unnatural, but in his confusion Seiji doesn't notice what, at first. Just — there's some kind of apparition sitting here beside this tree staring at nothing, and suddenly he's certain, utterly certain, he needs to be back within walls.
But he can't move.
Today, Seiji thinks of doors. He struggles, as always, to remember what brought him to this place. But his head is a jumble of things: sunlight and rain, crashing waves and bald-faced rocks, sunlight through feathers and rain on a glistening street. Maybe he ought to focus more on the present, or even the future (the looming shadow of Longnight) but he feels the past like a hole in his mouth. He wants to touch it. To explore its edges, define its shape, understand what used to be inside of it. If he finds anything useful while he does so, well.... It's possible, isn't it?
So he moves across the desolation of the winter fields. The first sad apple tree he passes by without considering its branches for fruit. His feet crunch through snow, and more flakes fall in a steady, silent rush. They catch in his hair like stars. Despite the stinging cold of the winter air against his face, the sight of his breath like a ghost before him, he keeps moving. He might have better luck in the wood, but with the days so short, he fears losing his way between the trees. So it's here he moves, looking for... something. A door, maybe. But not like the sort found in a house. Like the sort which might open to another world. A better world. Home.
He finds no such thing.
Afternoon is waning on, and still he wanders. The faint, buzzing static of a headache has begun somewhere just behind his eyes. He ignores it. The cold air moves like a fistful of knives into his lungs, and he ignores that, too, though he can feel his limbs growing tired. He ought to turn around. Or — he ought never have come out. He has other things to do. Realistic things.
It's the glow of the luxere which catches his eye. There in peripheral: a whole group of them, quietly grazing, digging up what they can from the snow. Seiji pauses. He could try to approach. He has a withered apple in his pocket. He had brought it for a snack, one of a bunch he gathered in these fields earlier, but the luxere are supposed to be benevolent. He is probably better served offering it to them, and finding food elsewhere in the settlement. Maybe it will charm them, and they'll follow him when he turns back, so the glow of their antlers can help ward off the darkness when it comes. Seiji likes the idea of that. Of this selfish little errand turning out something worthwhile, in the end.
So he approaches them slowly. Carefully. His footsteps are soft, as usual. The luxere stir and snort, their breaths, too pluming in the cold. Seiji reaches into his pocket and wraps his fingers around the apple. Fearful of startling them, he drops into a low stance, almost a crouch, and moves to stand beside a nearby tree. His fingertips reach up to press against the bark. But then he looks — down — looks at it properly. And forgets the deer.
With a cry, he leaps back. There's a man sitting there. Or — something like a man. The strangest man Seiji has ever seen. A man with a pale white face. Something about the face is unnatural, but in his confusion Seiji doesn't notice what, at first. Just — there's some kind of apparition sitting here beside this tree staring at nothing, and suddenly he's certain, utterly certain, he needs to be back within walls.
But he can't move.
The rain is full
of ghosts tonight
of ghosts tonight
