You are the night-time fear
He's a pale ghost in the dark, a drifting echo of a bygone time weaving down broken and ruined lanes. Fingertips trail along cracked and tumbled-down walls, but he doesn't stop to look inside any of the yawning houses. He knows they are empty. Whoever built them, inhabited them, were born and died in them, are long since forgotten. Discarded.It tells the painfully obvious story of a prosperous settlement dwindling, dwindling, dwindling until there's barely anything left. Aamu runs his tongue along the inside of his teeth, then sighs.
Most of the rebuilding in the Sanctuary is recent, too. The people trapped in here seem to have faded over the centuries, just barely clinging on.
Had it been worth it?
No one's there to answer him.
The rhythmic sound—the clink and clang of metal striking rocks, the scuffle of feet—draws him in, guides his wandering feet towards a dagger flying through the air before falling to the rubble. Mabel shows up to recover it, throwing it again, and Aamu steps forward, hoping to beat her to pick up the dagger. He's confused as to why she's out here, why she's throwing a dagger around, and he feels sorry for the thing. Repeatedly striking and falling against rocks likely didn't do it any favors, and if he could get to it he could probably save it from future mistreatment, get out of Mabel why she's doing this, and then teach her how to throw it properly.
Seems a simple enough plan in theory.
You are the morning when it's clear
AAMU
