The Fear of Falling Apart

Ashmedai couldn't seem to stick around in one land or another. Still, he couldn't seem to stay away either. The large man, now dappled with many scars found old heartstrings tugging him away from his gang and into old, familiar territory.

Surely his rag-tag gang of thieves and liars could get along without him for a while. So here he was. Abaven. He only returned every now and then to check on Sparrow. Whenever she finally grew tired of the pack, Ashmedai was sure he'd whisk her away and find her a nice gal to settle in with.

Who was he kidding, that would never happen. All he could settle for were these little crossings where Sparrow would undoubtedly yell at him for being gone. She'd probably lose track of time fretting over all of his scars, checking him over for new injuries. He could almost hear her now.

Despite that, when Ashmedai came, the border was almost unrecognizable. There was a familiarity about some of the scents- nearly forgotten in the years past- but a complete absence of Sparrow's scent. Ashmedai moved around the border, trying to catch any sign of her.

But there was none.

So she finally left, didn't she? Grew tired, finally snapped, and left. Right? A nagging feeling in Ash's gut told him he was wrong. Sparrow wouldn't leave Abaven.

Ashmedai called out to the pack. Surely someone was there. Someone would know him, know Sparrow. They'd explain everything. He'd make them. He wasn't worried. He wasn't pacing. He was fine. Sparrow was fine. Everything was ok.