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.
@Colby