Neron
the wind breathes lonely
longing to be seen
longing to be seen
Somewhere along the line Neron had changed his clothes (more likely, someone had changed them for him) and he follows after Morgan all in solemn black, as is his way. It’s about the only thing that is his way, currently - his cheeks are still flushed and there’s a pearly sheen of sweat on his forehead, the Ascended squinting out over the snow. But Morgan is right about one thing, at least, and that’s the effect of the crisp, cold air on his fever.
”I do,” he says, very nearly sounding put together as he picks up the pace to walk alongside her, needing no stick, though it’s not necessarily because he doesn’t need one. Either way, he’s almost content to look at him, gazing back at their tracks down the mountain. ”Where are we going?” he asks. ”...We’re a long way from the Citadel.”
”I do,” he says, very nearly sounding put together as he picks up the pace to walk alongside her, needing no stick, though it’s not necessarily because he doesn’t need one. Either way, he’s almost content to look at him, gazing back at their tracks down the mountain. ”Where are we going?” he asks. ”...We’re a long way from the Citadel.”
sometimes the soul
has days like these
has days like these
