The world is what we make it
05-14-2019, 08:47 PM
Eris Pyre He repeated her name, but there was an emptiness to it. It was clear that just consonants and vowels would not be enough to repair whatever damage had been done. Eris' ears saddled, her sadness palpable - it was written clearly in her body language and in the tapping upon Lament's paws. Mourning, confusion, sadness she wrote hurriedly. They were some of the very first words she learned in Ademic after being taken in by their teacher. It was an exercise to help explore her feelings of abandonment. Eris hadn't felt this bereft since she was a pup. "I don't know," Eris confessed, feeling helpless. "You all left with our teacher on a training exercise... you were supposed to be back in just a few sunrises, but I was so lonely! I followed you a few hours after you left. Once you left the area I was used to patrolling, I got lost." She was bitterly disappointed in herself. Without help navigating, Eris often didn't have the confidence to proceed. It had taken her the better part of a day to reorient herself once she had been turned around. Once she caught their scent again, they were long gone from the area. All she could do was doggedly pursue their weakening trail. "Once your scents began to diverge, I had to pick one to follow closely or I never would have made it this far." As Lament asked after home, the ground seemed to drop out from underneath her. Eris felt herself growing faint and leaned on him even further to remain upright. The waning sunlight had finally left the orchard, leaving her adrift in darkness. "Lament... if you don't know where home is, neither do I. The scent is old now, I can't retrace my steps." And I can't see well enough, even in the daylight, to make out any familiar landscapes. The unspoken sentence hung between them. If he didn't remember her, if he didn't even recall their homeland... what was wrong with him? And what could she possibly do to help? Unless they restored his fractured memories, they didn't have a chance of returning to their homeland. If she closed her eyes, she could picture the bright Sword Tree in full bloom - but that was all she had, disparate images in her head. Nothing could be stitched together to form a map. They were little more than snatches of color and beauty resigned to memory. |
Current time: 11-24-2024, 10:34 PM
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