the skin of a predator

we keep on doing this again and again
the same old things expecting something different

It is rare to see Isla out this far. It’s also rarer still for Sunjata to be out of the VlamVloed despite knowing that LongNight was safe here. It was still the memories it dredged up, that first year in particular that he’d spent here – arguing with Lusea before she’d died again about things he had long since forgotten. But something about it seemed to suggest he needed out, only for a moment, a brisk run or flight or something in the darkness illuminated only by the few and far between torches.

He chooses to walk once the bite of the cold wind hits him, when the snow begins to crunch beneath his boot. He somehow manages to find Isla, his gaze partially shifted to one of the shifts he can see in the dark better with. “Hey! Isla!” He calls out to her, nearly slipping on some ice he’d missed by taking a bit larger of a step than he had been previously – still not one cut out for snow. “What do you have there?” He asks, flashing Isla an easy smile, crooked by nature of the scar bisecting his cheek.

but by now we know it's never gonna change
i'm not trying to complain, i'm just saying it's a waste