i am the mace, the map, the fall and the high
It’s a strange thing, watching the aftermath of her reaction to his most ancient memory. There are curls of her own now, whispers of a childhood in which she stood as something else - not the creature made of cold and snow and ice that she is now. He recognizes it. She had changed, just as he had. But rather than the future flooding the back of her mind as it had for him, the iciest reaches of the north had flooded her.
She speaks of that time, before she had grown numb, and it makes him wonder. Does she look at him now and see a boy grown into a young man who is not okay? Those memories had been formative ones. Had created the wild recklessness that still courses through his body - his very bones - to this day. It is a hungry beast, always desiring more. Did that make him not okay?
“She came back,” is his reply. “When I was older.” His eyes gleam with something strange, almost feral as he watches her, but it is quickly replaced by a wry flippancy. “I suppose that makes everything okay.”
He shifts, suddenly restless in the somber chill that had suffused the air around them. He does not care for this scrutiny of his past, not quite sure now what had possessed him to show her that memory. It had been foolish and careless. So he changes the subject, pushing it back on her with little finesse. “Does it bother you, not being able to feel things like you used to?”
reave
@camellia