[div style="max-width: 360px; font-family: georgia; color: #664b4a; text-align: left; padding-top: 8px; padding-left: 10px; letter-spacing: 1px; font-size: 12px;"]NEVER GETS ANY BETTER, ONLY GETS WORSE

There is no silence where loose formation disturbs smooth plateau, high and plaintive the cry, an undercurrent elsewhere grown a roiling pitch demanding it be known. Attention he would not give it, allowed the harsh current to pass though the drag of it through exposed fur ached, a mark left, burning reddened skin exposed. An idiot was he for traversing the peaks, allowing his steps to draw him where the land wished him to be, thoughts an entanglement barely organised when the realisation arose. His departure should have been imminent upon arrival, the altitude felt in each breath, held for a moment too long, a dull sensation accompanying the rest.

One could deem Vincent intelligent within some fashions, sly and receptive the mind honed into but another weapon in his arsenal, common sense was decided in rather short supply.

No reason did he bear to linger here with the high keen of the wind dulling all else, a boon made a despised disadvantage for time and damage had weakened his hearing, lacking external ears to assist in blocking it out this the best he could wish for. Except he did, though the words were locked behind his lips, held there as he studied the surrounding landscape. Simple it, barren in a way little else was though the rocky expanse did not take well to growth, no cracks allowing wanton flora to take even a meagre hold. Plain it, in truth, except for the ring that acted as central fixture.

Closer he stepped, unwavering as broken the barrier, within that formation drawing to a halt. Not expected anything, be it of ordinary or unnatural means, to signify he intruded upon sacred ground, still the sting of disappointment was present. Foolish it, as was the idea anything of such calibre may have deemed so simple a fragment of land as worth protection, aside brushed without further rumination. To dwell was a waste, the moments trickling past without meaning, purpose striped back until it could hold nothing. So what of him, the soldier that had lost it all, nothing but an empty vessel worn down and awaiting the tiny crack that would shatter him.

Languid steps, central position taken. For this he was made, smooth the movement, practiced draw, metal lightly scraping against leather. It is not perfect, however, muscle protesting, taunt drawn in a twinge of pain that tightens his jaw, hilt incapable of muffling his groan. Too long forgone an action once simple, neck twisting back and forth in a bid to relieve himself of the lingering ache. It seemed insistent on lingering, however, and acted as a slight against him. Wasting the time used on the traversal to the Circle unthinkable, aside pushed the dull nuisance in favour of continuing.

Clumsy the first twist, neck craning, paws rising. Against stone metal clattered, hushed words spoken beneath his breath. After it he followed, hesitation to take the dagger up once more halted him before it, annoyance briefly arising, washed away beneath acceptance. He no longer was fit for such work, his body protesting as he lifted the blade, uncomfortable the now unfamiliar weight between his teeth. There was nothing else for him, the fragmented pieces of what he had once been all he had left and thus together would he piece them, a poor facsimile better than nothing.


[member=17246]aesior[/member]

© MADI