and I've only got my brittle bones to break the fall
He's old, he should be better, stronger, fiercer—but he isn't. He was decisive there in the darkness, and now all that's left of him are the broken, shameful parts. And even in the midst of that he feels vaguely guilty for dragging all the soot and smoke-stink back in when she's busy scrubbing it from the floor.From one war to another. From one side to another.
He's become exactly what he fought against.
Aamu is limp and ragged, as if he contemplates becoming boneless and dead weight but somehow remains upright: he's surprised, he's grateful, he doesn't want to think. Rests his head against her shoulder, watching her golden hair.
He imagines it smells like Meadowreach.
"What have we done?" he whispers as he raises his arms around her waist, suddenly overcome with the need to just hold her close.
Aamu
