I will fight the end
The old man goes down and the world suddenly shifts, jagged, fractured. He can feel it, for a second, a strike against his own jaw, like a phantom. Only it isn’t his - he’s not the one being hit. It’s the boy wriggling down from his arms, and suddenly the rage building within him boils over. Sunjata is already running into a world of his own making, and Ronin’s supernova lights the place up like a firework. It burns away the rest of the dream - the bridge, the bank, the rain - and when he can see again, it’s just the cabin.
It’s just quiet and warm, cinnamon and woodsmoke. He forces his shoulders to relax, forces himself not to say the words he’s thinking: If I ever see that man again, I am going to kill him. Ronin swallows, drawn out of his reverie by the sound of a child. He manages a smile, wiping at his wet face and walking around the table to stand with him, guiding him gently by the shoulder towards the hearth where they might be able to dry off.
”It is,” he said. ”If you want it, that is. If you want something else, we’ll imagine that instead,” he assures him, still radiating starlight and sinking down to sit in front of the hearth, patting the space next to him for the boy to sit. ”Are you alright? Didn’t drink too much of the river?”
It’s just quiet and warm, cinnamon and woodsmoke. He forces his shoulders to relax, forces himself not to say the words he’s thinking: If I ever see that man again, I am going to kill him. Ronin swallows, drawn out of his reverie by the sound of a child. He manages a smile, wiping at his wet face and walking around the table to stand with him, guiding him gently by the shoulder towards the hearth where they might be able to dry off.
”It is,” he said. ”If you want it, that is. If you want something else, we’ll imagine that instead,” he assures him, still radiating starlight and sinking down to sit in front of the hearth, patting the space next to him for the boy to sit. ”Are you alright? Didn’t drink too much of the river?”
'til the end is here
