ace theriot, eleven. cb.

It’s about the quiet for me.

Most people don’t notice how loud it is on the river, the life its teeming with. I was four the first time I took the boat out on the water. I had to bother Abel to get the motor going for me, and he told me I was totally going to get in trouble when Mom and Dad found out, but I didn’t care. I wanted to hear the swamp for myself.

By myself.

Life stayed like that, hasn’t really changed much. It’s just gotten a little bit quieter, a little bit sweeter. Now the trouble tastes how Nicolas does after a glass of chamomile before bed. Dad left a couple years ago, went to find a job closer to the center of the district claiming he wanted to send money back home, but we haven’t heard much from him since.

Sometimes I dream I’ve forgotten him, a strange duality to grieve him while actively dreaming I do not know who he is. Nicolas makes thoughts like that easier.

Abel is gone now, too. Wendy went with him.

At least they didn't pretend like they were going to send money back home. It's getting easier everyday without their company. I have the Heron's to keep me company, and Nicolas when he wants to make the boat ride out to our ramshackle little home on the water. He's even got me selling jars of my bee's honey as Walker's shop in town. That's enough.

More than.