and on their altars you lay your heart of stone
But he is not alone.
Too moon-drunk to care that he's being a lawn ornament Aamu listens, until the murmur becomes words, sung off-key without a care. His fingers cease their reverent dancing upon the glow stones. He can't quite decide if the song is familiar or not, it sits in the strange limbo of his disused memory, and as the Wraith herself comes into view he's uncertain if he wants to move or not. He feels like she might not have seen him, a grayscale smear in the dewy and cold grasses. He's not sure which way he prefers it.
But, ah—much as he's disappointed and upset with the recent turn of events, and unimpressed by what he's been told, it's unfair to straight up judge her and then not talk to her. He wants to be bitter and wounded, but this respite between wars will end. There's no time for it.
"Hello Wessex," he says from his place among the glowing stones, on a whim rolling slightly onto his back and stretching like a cat while his piercing blue eyes follow the trajectory of the discus.
Too moon-drunk to care that he's being a lawn ornament Aamu listens, until the murmur becomes words, sung off-key without a care. His fingers cease their reverent dancing upon the glow stones. He can't quite decide if the song is familiar or not, it sits in the strange limbo of his disused memory, and as the Wraith herself comes into view he's uncertain if he wants to move or not. He feels like she might not have seen him, a grayscale smear in the dewy and cold grasses. He's not sure which way he prefers it.
But, ah—much as he's disappointed and upset with the recent turn of events, and unimpressed by what he's been told, it's unfair to straight up judge her and then not talk to her. He wants to be bitter and wounded, but this respite between wars will end. There's no time for it.
"Hello Wessex," he says from his place among the glowing stones, on a whim rolling slightly onto his back and stretching like a cat while his piercing blue eyes follow the trajectory of the discus.