staring at the edge // { arrows + kay }

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Fragile fickle fingers flick through the foliage frost floating into the frigid air. An annoyed hiss hums from the compressed line of Kirito's lips while he stands shadowing his porch. Parallel to his own home the Rhodes, as always, lies barren and battle pure, prepared for the perils of the night Kirito always forgot. He pulls the tendrils of his tightly bound silver sweater to his skin as his steps silently slip onto the stony street.

Snow speckles sprinkle from the circumference of the accumulated clouds, each flake infested with the fever of winter wonder. Beneath the serene scene of sudden snow the breaths of children berate the air while balls of frigid frost bombard the pathway. Snow suddenly shoots, slicing through Kirito's skin as one spurts across his face from the cross fire. Concern quickly conjures upon the brows of the aggressors and apologies soon swiftly join the snow in the air. He hides the frown furrowing within him at such a reaction, a reaction only given to survivors such as himself. Instead he smirks sending his own snow sailing into the fray returning the fight to its frantic nature. He continues onward down the path.

Bustling battles bang and clang through the beaten warehouse while warmth wraps Kirito's sodden skin. Hunger stripped souls spin and spit through a weaving sea of commotion while the market merely remains standing. Sorrow and sadness stain the skin of every suffering spirit while Kirito slips through the sea. The soil was sour and the land was limited to barren nature. There was no work to be done and no money to be given to those who could not work. This season to many is winter, in Eleven it is the season of starvation. 

Youth radiates from the rash glowing eyes of a ginger haired girl working a small and simple stand. Illumination ignites within the prisons of her pupils as she sights Kirito emerging from the swift sea currents. Her hands gesture to the roots and materials all perfect for medicines, that was, if you knew how to make them. Many didn't, so the stand often went silent. Kirito was by far their best buyer, their stock kept his hospital alive, it kept the twenty three he had killed alive. It was the source of his capability to survive the struggles of existence... That and one other thing.

His fingers warp around one and spin the golden ring gracing it while the initials OT endlessly shimmer even in the shadows of a snowy day. He smiles for a minuscule moment her sweetness sweeps through his senses and she is within his arms. The senses shift swiftly though and his mission returns to priority. A bag fills with precious products while each of their prices is met in return. A tiny tip in comparison to his wealth is given to the girl before he returns to the suffering sea and the sodden snow. 

The past seems forgotten among a heavy fall of white while children no longer play upon the path. Similar stacks of smoke spill from chimneys all along the endless rows of shacks and houses. The world washes away into white and black while frost runs frigidly along Kirito's spine sending his thoughts to Katelyn's games. How did she survive the snow? But then again, how did anyone ever survive the slaughters.

Curiosity christens the center of Kirito's cranium as he comes across his door ajar, and for a moment Oasis is dead in the doorway. For a moment his Mother is mutilated upon the stairs. For a moment Wyatt's knives are back within every inkling of his existence. 

The moment fades.

Faces filled with familiarity wait within the hall of his home as Kirito steps through the doorway. Beside Navya's side he spots his pots and a sigh slips from him as he shuts the door behind him. "I aught to pay you to just put them away for me, I can't remember half of the important things these days. Damn." He says cutting off from the cold now creeping through his house. "Now the house is freezing, I don't know about either of you but I think I am going to make some tea and light the fire if you would both like to join me."