Quivers and Broken Strings || Sue

Sue Tate's broken strings couldn't be replaced, not even by the parachute dropped rolls that fall from the sky as the sun falls. 

The word fell dead with a glory fit for a creature of it's size, one tip of his blade kissing its ankle and severing the limb from body before it plummeted to the ground. Flittering thoughts and unspoken words, he hadn't been able to explain to himself why he had stepped in to help the boy who had shattered the only mirror that could have answered the question he'd waited eighteen sin filled years to ask. 

One axe in his head, he fell to the ground with all those broken sins they'd stuffed him with. 

Head ripped from metallic ash, Sue Tate had charged into battle on the backwards assumption that the trust between himself and Wyatt O'Connor had been renewed with the fleeting footsteps of the latter, dust clouds clogging the already blurry vision of Sue Tate's broken line of site. 

The Delivery Word twitched as it lay dead on the ground, canvas painted with the blood of its own body. One wing twitches back and forth in rapid succession, reminiscent of the batter bruised and skull split body of Sue Tate's mech. 

He leaves the head with Wyatt, two stabbed through sockets keeping eyes on a boy whose trust had been lost somewhere between sanity and abyss.

One parachute, three rolls, they fall from the sky before clattering to the ground, rolling to his feet.

The eyes of a power line graveyard watch the boy from Seven unroll wire after wire, bending and snap these branches break. But he doesn't give up, instead interlacing branch within bloody digits until he powers through. 

When he is done, he stands in the middle of a danger zone, counting the spaces where his traps stare back at him from between metal bars. 

He avoids the creaky floorboards and the tripwires that sit on them as he makes his way back to the mistrust.