smallest sounds leave the clearest echoes

Halo was gone. Sirius was gone. There's something to be said for abandonment issues, and something to be said for a girl who thinks she's grown past it all. Grow through what you go through, or whatever. The reality of it? Hazel hasn't grown past a minute of it, parts of her still existing as a raw wound. Fuck, you could be elbow deep in it, and all you'd be able to find... raw wound.

Winter had come, settling over the Col. Bringing melancholy with it, but more than that. Fuck, melancholy is too timid an emotion for Hazel. Bitterness and rage rising up in the back of her throat, things that she will not put words to. If they hadn't left, if they'd just stayed, if they'd made sure things were going over well... maybe she wouldn't feel so lost. Maybe she'd be able to process what had happened during the handover.

Maybe she'd be able to process any of the things she'd been running from.

That's a lie.

Three years. Two years. Winters had always been trying, and this was no different. The shit that churned back up, the things she was reliving in real time. Everyone has their demons, their skeletons, their doubts. Why's she the only one who can't come to grips with hers? Why's she the only one stuck in it? Stuck in a rut, with no way out.

Too many thoughts in her head, too many things hanging over her. She needs to be away from the Col, and she needs to clear space between her ears. Hazel moves north, looking for solitude. Looking for a change of scenery. Perhaps looking for Halo, though she won't admit that.

Hazel, The General