mors tua , vita mea [tex]
Jul 7, 2022 11:36:36 GMT -5
Post by pogue on Jul 7, 2022 11:36:36 GMT -5
T E X
This forest holds wonders.
And fears, the shadows run and dart in between the trees as he watches from perceived safety, stump underneath him his only tether to reality left. Brown eyes scan the brush and watches it shift and move in the wake of the wind, the occasional quick rustle from the bushes letting them know that they are never truly alone. His spear hasn't left his hand since he's sat down, threaded the metal in between his fingertips and felt it burn every time he thrusted it forwards out into the mist. Now it sits stained in red, resting gently against his lap and reminding him of why he is here, of what he will have to do to go home.
Or, at least, what is left of home.
He imagines that his household has gone silent by now, shared grief pushed into the corners and the shadows, laced into one's blood but not into their voices. His Mother has most likely kept the television on the entire time he has been there, volume turned so low she wouldn't hear her own boy speak his final words, high enough to be able to hear his cannon.
"Hey-" Restlessness wins out, so do the thoughts. He stands and feels his muscles protest against the sudden movement, wounds old and new threatening to widen at the seams. "I'm going to go look for more plants." He calls to Kip, brown eyes glancing towards his ally before he walks into the shadows.
Orbs bounce around him as he walks, the tip of his spear dragging against the ground behind him and leaving something of a vein in the soft soil, a lifeline built and a lifeline fading tracing his footsteps as he walks. Each sound sends adrenaline through his system, fire in his veins and fear in his bones. But he's grown used to being on high alert at this point in the arena, has grown used to avoiding his own reflection in the waters just so that he won't break.
It's why his spear is quick to face in front of him when the brush to his left suddenly rustles, footsteps quick to follow in its wake and fear to follow that. He waits for a moment, hesitant against his own death.
This forest holds wonders, this forest holds fears. He lunges with both pressed against his heart.
[Delivery Word]
qcSSEhXS5k1-4
[Search Mechanic 2/3]
1-6
qcSSEhXS5k1-4
[Search Mechanic 2/3]
1-6
1-4·1-6
