I had not gone to Iromar. I could not face such a place. Mother was gone now, and father was hiding away some place else. Vainglory, I could not find and I did not know if I could face he and Istas anyway. After all, I had done a poor job at helping them. I had done a poor job on helping everybody. I was running away from it. I could be honest about that. I was even running away from Sen, slipping across the borders and disappearing into the world beyond. His sadness had been a palpable force within Taviora; I was afraid of being consumed by it. Sadness was a predator I was afraid to suffer beneath it. Was it wrong? Was it wrong to leave him to fight it off himself? Sen had to be strong. I was the weak one with a spine as brittle as the autumn leaves.
I had felt winter's arrival before it truly had come. The earth I rested within had begun to cool; at night, at times, it felt like a tomb of ice in the darkness by myself. Is is strange to want somebody else there by me? I had thought of Nakki. I have thought of her much. She, Zeteri, even Reian who had all chosen to see me as more than just a wayward soul. They had seen me - noticed me, chosen to be near me. I had thought of them all in the darkest of seasons. It had always been Nakki, though, that scared me in the strangest of ways. I feared that her eyes would emerge from the darkness with that sinister sheen and yet, at the same time, I had hoped they would. How am I supposed to feel? This want for closeness... I could not understand...
And so, I ran once more. I crawled from the den and buried it with dirt and rock, abandoning the crags along with it. Perhaps I would return home to Taviora and yet, first I wished to see the vastness of this winterscape one last time. If I went home, I could not tell when I would be back out here. Snow has begun to pepper Moladion, the white of my fur blending into the landscape as I move across the fields of short grass. I am but a ghost here, an image created by light hitting the snow just right; at least, I feel that way. There is little substance within me and it feels as if I could very well dissipate in the breeze. Yet, something whispers in the distance, voices and words I do not know. It is hard to not turn and run, I will admit. Yet, for once, I wish to face something.
I can barely make them out as I enter their territory, these strangers clustering around the smell of flesh and blood. I move towards them with long, slow strides, glancing into the central group to see the fallen elk. It lies close the water, and there is a feeling of uncertainty that radiates from the group. I approach no further and instead, I begin to move in a sweep around them, constantly inspecting the scene before me. I do not know why I have come here and yet, the whispers continue - I must not leave, not yet. This is something I should witness, whatever it is. Why else did I not run away?
wraith
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