where'er the goddess turns her melancholy gaze, Man his loathsomeness displays
There are so many dead that it takes time for her to find them. She spares a moment above the punch of grief to be grateful that they were not parted even in death.
Abraham and Gwyneverre.
She kneels beside them that first night, Riya pressed against their cold figures from the other side, flanking them in death as they had so many times in life. Together they hold vigil there, heads bowed and silent in their regret. For all the familiar faces Anju saw gathered for burial, this one is perhaps the hardest to bear. A brother in arms, a friend - insofar as Abe had friends - a familiar fixture that now lies empty.
When they are buried she returns to the Nest. It seems the proper place to mourn him. His name will surely be added to the list of lost Dragoons, held in memoriam eternal, but as her sword decimates a training dummy Anju thinks to herself that it’s not enough. Except she is no poet, no artist. Emotional gestures are even more unfamiliar. But the hole left behind by Abraham - and even Sera - is an ache that drives her to train long into the afternoon. Until her hair is sticking to her neck with sweat, and even her well-calloused hands begin to ache.
Abraham and Gwyneverre.
She kneels beside them that first night, Riya pressed against their cold figures from the other side, flanking them in death as they had so many times in life. Together they hold vigil there, heads bowed and silent in their regret. For all the familiar faces Anju saw gathered for burial, this one is perhaps the hardest to bear. A brother in arms, a friend - insofar as Abe had friends - a familiar fixture that now lies empty.
When they are buried she returns to the Nest. It seems the proper place to mourn him. His name will surely be added to the list of lost Dragoons, held in memoriam eternal, but as her sword decimates a training dummy Anju thinks to herself that it’s not enough. Except she is no poet, no artist. Emotional gestures are even more unfamiliar. But the hole left behind by Abraham - and even Sera - is an ache that drives her to train long into the afternoon. Until her hair is sticking to her neck with sweat, and even her well-calloused hands begin to ache.
ANJU
