[Training] Idle hands are the devil's friend

and if you want, i could tell you the truth

that this life takes a toll on you. i spend nights

She says nothing, and it burns within him in a much colder way than anything else had. So he clenches his jaw, feels the muscle feather along his cheek, feels the softness of her skin when he holds it up to place it from fingertip to fingertip. And how she refuses to look at him, it has him sinking too – and gods when was the last time he felt somewhat okay? Likely that day on the river, from what felt like ages ago. So he exhales a deep sound, pinching at the twine to mark where it was, before he goes to fold it into a section that he can pick out the length of what it would be for her, splitting it apart into what seems like would fit two and a half of them within her reach.

And then he has his measurement, but he doesn’t drift away, no. In fact, he leans in ever so slightly, above her shoulder to talk to her in a more private sort of sense, that even those around them who may be attuned can’t hear it. “I can’t talk about what happened until we get to the training space.” He offers, voice hoarse as he tries to whisper it, the toll taken from his escapades in his attempts to whisper – a drawn drafty sort of sound. He withdraws then, his stormy gaze drifting across her briefly, before he takes the measurement and picks the slightly larger one of the bows that he’d brought, picking up a quiver to hand to her and guide her toward the far back training dummy he’d put up – far enough away from the rest of them that they wouldn’t be able to hear anything unless they shouted.

He grabs his own quiver, pulling his dark ebony bow from his shoulder and holding it in his hand as he begins to walk toward it, horned head focused down and along the path they take, slow at first.

stitching up the loose threads of my soul

so in the morning i'm bullet proof

SuNJATA