the mountains became sand

R I K Y N & D U I R I notice his approach and lift my eyes to him, but that is as far as I move, waiting for him to come over, just in case he decides to turn back and go stare broodingly into the sea on his own some more. Knowing how I deal with my problems and feelings (not at all, with distractions, or by burying them deeper and deeper inside) I won’t push others to talk to me about them. That seems to be a primarily female trait, anyway… He’ll talk, when he wants to talk, I think, though the gold-struck buck alongside me gently connects his mind to mine with worry. He bad, Duir expresses, those two words accompanied with emotional descriptions of what he means by bad, pressed all the more onto me when he watches my ears fall back. Erebos is not… I begin to retort, before gathering what the buck means. Looking at my best friend with a concerned thoughtfulness that hasn’t broached my hard expressions for anyone but Gwyn since before the mass exodus, I wonder if Duir is right, eyeing his sorrowful gait, and the seemingly subdued Orsino. Huh, I half care and half moan inwardly to myself when I see it (because it’s a problem to deal with, and I really don’t like dealing with anything), and Duir bobs his head, looking back out to the sea. "Hey," I quietly reply, meeting his gaze. It seems like he’s going to say something other than what he finally does, but so it goes, with Erebos. He never wants to talk about it, but I know what it is. I’m sorry, for you, for me, for us and them, for her… "It never stops raining," I answer, avoiding everything like he does; I give him something he probably already knows, but I don’t know what else I’ve learned, other things that I might be able to eat. The long term effects were as of yet undetermined, and several of the choices so far had left me with, well, unpleasant aftermaths of the posterior kind, if you know what I mean. "There are caves along the cliffs, in the jungle to the south of the wood we first came to. They’re dry enough. Just have to keep an ear out for cave ins, considering the nonstop fucking deluge in this hellhole. Maybe Glacia would talk to you, then, and you could tell me why she’s being so true to her namesake. Hot and cold, hot and cold…" I kick a rock out into the jungle, watching the boughs shake around its trajectory with backwards flipped ears and scowl. "Women," I mutter to myself, with a darkness that is born from more than just being in a frustrating relationship; still, I try to pick the mood up, looking back over at Erebos with an expression slightly more friendly than a scowl, "what about you? You learn anything yet?" this is not destruction this is your birth —

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