Untitled Documents Of arid
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Perhaps the most troubling thing was the worry, always the worry. Their eyes would weep and their brows would furrow, utterly confused and devastated that they could not fix you. You were something broken, beyond any reasonable doubt, and they needed to repair you into to any fragment of glory, regardless of the glass still embedded into your skin.
Yes, he decided. The worry was the most troublesome.
They sit upon stone and fires, feasting upon blades. The travel through mountains of rough terrain and past the jeering heavens. They still long enough for death to swim past Them, and breathe water to tear down soft flesh with calloused fingers. They carry cloth to shadow Their chest and bone so that They may shape it with jagged teeth, attacking mindlessly, lest someone rob Them of Pride.
They are not barren.
He was, of course, surrounded by these creatures. He stood and waited, watching with bated breath as they moved. Ruthless, yet agile, a grace unknown even by Them, though They never even friended interest when it was not for Their own gain.
At Birth, he knew nothing of Them.
At Then, he knew all about Them.
At Age, he was one of Them.
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