i am the mace, the map, the fall and the high
His legs itch to escape, bitter memories shoved as far back as he can quell them. He’s not certain he would ever be able to look at these cliffs the same way. And yet, it is still as much a home as anything ever had been. Logic tells him he is not trapped, but instinct is such a hard beast to beat.
So he does the only thing he can - he charges into it with all the reckless abandon he can muster.
Though perhaps in this case charge is not the right word. More accurately, he walks with steadfast footfalls despite the itch raging along his skin demanding flight. Rune is near - an undeniable, if unacknowledged, comfort. He hadn’t been there then. His presence serves as irrefutable proof that he is no longer trapped in a nightmare.
He might have laughed at that if his chest weren’t so heavy. If laughter didn’t feel like a world apart. But he would not let that nightmare win. Not when these wild moors are as much a part of him now as his bones.
Instead he simply breathes in the salty tang of the air, the whispers of heather and peat tangling along the edges. There is a familiarity here that hadn’t been there then. It’s foolish to think his nightmare is domestication in this untameable land. And yet, it makes more sense than he had ever imagined. The brutality of sameness would always be the end of him.
With slow steps, he finds the cliffs overlooking the narrow strait separating his brother’s lands from his. He would need to find him soon. With so much change - so much hanging on this dangerous precipice - he needs to. But today, this moment, this heartbeat of time, he focuses instead on conquering the fear in his heart. There is no room for such a dangerous emotion in his life. Not right now. Not ever, if he can help it.
reave
@Nashua