i am the mace, the map, the fall and the high

For a time, there is only madness. A sea of memories and possibilities woven in tangled threads around him. He does not reach for them, though he remembers doing so once. He cannot remember why, not when they come to him so easily, unwelcome and unforgiving.

So he drifts until, eventually, reality intercedes.

He stumbles, blinking glassy blue eyes to clear the haze. It doesn’t clear, not quite (never quite), but for now, lucidity remains. Vague memories tickle the edges of his consciousness, but he leaves them where they lurk, skittering in darker corners. His legs ache and more than just the bone of his armor protrudes along his ribcage and hips. How long has he been walking? He doesn’t remember. Ages, he thinks. Or perhaps it was only days?

He coughs, the faint memory of saltwater burning his throat as the scent of brine fills his senses. But there is no water choking him anymore.

The echo of hollow, gnawing hunger pulls at him. Though he no longer feels the pain, he remembers that he had once. He frowns, glazed eyes growing distant. He should eat, he knows that much. So he does, though it is an action of rote mechanics. Tug, chew, swallow, repeat. It does not sit well in his seething belly, but he does it anyway, until the discomfort prevents him.

He’s forgetting something, he knows it. But then, he is forgetting a great many things. This however, is more important. As though he has left a piece of himself somewhere. Perhaps sleep would help him recall. His weary limbs are about to give out on him anyway.

He has no more than collapsed gracelessly to the ground before his consciousness begins to fade. A shadow falls over him, great wings beating as the harpy eagle lands on a branch above.

Ah yes, he thinks, the thought slipping away just as quickly as it had come, now I remember.

i am the mace, the map, the fall and the high

It’s impossible to know how long he slept this time. Dreams and reality collide, fusing together until he cannot decipher one from the other. The past and future crash at the seams of his unconscious, though he cannot tell which is which. So when he wakes, it feels far less like waking and far more breaking against sharpened stone after an endless fall through an impossible abyss.

The only warning of his impending wakefulness is a single shriek from the eagle, a sound of caution for the mare who had the misfortune of stumbling upon his slumbering form. His entire body jerks violently as his lungs seize inside his chest. For a moment, one that may as well have been an eternity, all he knows is panic. Death hangs over him, gleaming scythe arching for his exposed neck. He does not recognize them for glinting, rose-gold dapples on smoke-dark flesh as he lashes out, wide and wild blue eyes unseeing beneath the pale mask of bone.

A heartbeat later his vision is filled with feathered wings as pain bites across his nose and cheek. The sharp talons draw blood, but with it comes clarity, giving him something tangible to cling to. Allowing him to focus on the one thing he knows to be real inside the raging chaos he had lost himself to.

When his murky sight finally clears, the faintly blurred outline of the woman who had been standing over him coalesces. “Shit,” he mutters, his breath ragged as it rattles through his lungs, the faint hint of copper at the back of his throat causing him to wonder how long his diaphragm had frozen for that time. “Don’t you know you shouldn’t sneak up on someone when they’re sleeping?”

He doesn’t bother trying to rise. Even if he weren’t still trying to catch his breath, he’s not certain he would have the strength for it anyway. Besides, he’s far too busy pretending he can’t hear Rune demanding he apologize to the stranger. He’d never been one to apologize on his best day, and this is far from his best. Fortunately he is the only one who can hear the large bird’s endless dialogue. He had long ago learned to tune it out, though whether it had helped delay his fall from the edge of sanity or pushed him towards it was anyone’s guess.

When his breathing has finally settled to a small degree, he allows himself to fully take in the mare who had startled him awake. Once, he might have offered her a witty greeting from lips tilted in a devilish grin. Now, though his lips twitch as though he might smile, he instead coughs before saying dryly, “The only vulture circling is Rune. He’s a bit jealous.”

It never once occurs to him that he might be responding to a memory considering how entirely unaware he had been when she’d uttered those words.