He had contemplated it once before, or perhaps more times than even that. Each time, however, he had seen the faces of those he had loved and had yet to love, too. It had always been born out of fear, though. His soul was riddled with a trepid timbre; he feared the future, the past, the unknown and even the known. It was a fear born of himself. It was a selfish fear. Of course, he knew that. Often times, it was his own fear of being selfish that kept him from doing anything in the realms of stupid. Today, especially, he had grown fearful of his own selfishness and failures; this time, however, they had something else to gravitate to rather than a feeling of emptiness.

For so long, he had desired a closeness with Sorcha. It was an undeniable feeling and each time he saw or thought of her, he had become filled with a strange feeling of lightness and fulfillment. His time in Spirane had been spent feeling elated, unafraid and yet, like everything it seemed, parts of himself had begun to poison that beauty. Slowly but surely, insecurity had begun to creep in and eat away at the foundations of what he had started to see as nothing but goodness. He had suddenly begun to worry - what if his desire to be so close to her was one sided? A selfish, conceited need? Or, worst yet, not even a need but a pure, self-obsessed want? What if he had not done anything monumental for a reason - what if he was simply incapable? It was the curse of his father's blood, or his absence perhaps and yet, it was a difficult curse to shake. It felt, at times, that all the love in the world could not completely cure him. He was too hungry for it.

It was what had brought him to the grotto. He had slipped from Spirane in the early morning, when no other had awoken yet on the southern flanks of the mountain. In the darkness, he had followed the river south until the sun had begun to rise. Around him, the world seemed to glow in a golden light; the snow reflected the sun in such a magnificent way, bathing even him in the warmth and glory of a new morning. Yet, he felt as if he dragged an elk's weight behind him still. He didn't have it in him to stop yet and so, he moved onward and forward, finding the darkness of the crags in no time at all.

There, the shadows had fallen long and sharp, their darkness untouched yet as he tumbled down into the crevices and caverns. Snow had yet to even penetrate the depths, the rocks bare and slick with the faintest sleet. It felt wrong to be in such a place; he was sure if ghosts existed, he'd not even find them in such a foul place. He could hear the roaring of water below him in the darkness as he toed the line between the outside world and the bowels of the earth. Part of him desired it and yet, the other part did not. It reeled against the shadows and filth within such a place. For now, he could do little but to stare into the abyss; his body was rigged with uncertainty, his eyes wide with searching. He hadn't a clue what he'd find and yet, he hoped it was something to send him far, far from this place.