sharpen your blade

He had been growing increasingly frustrated as the weeks passed, and still there was no permanent relief in sight. The migraines still plagued him frequently, the stutter wouldn't go away, and he had been having trouble controlling his emotions. Ever since the flood and waking up from his coma, things had changed for him. Though he had yet to tell anyone about the changes he was experiencing beyond the stuttering (which he couldn't hide when he talked to others), he wasn't sure if he should. He feared being judged. Feared being seen as week, or seen as less than the others. Although there were some in the Armada that had their own disabilities, he was not ready to admit that he had something going on beyond the obvious.

Frustrated, he walked through the woods until he found a tiny black figure. Though he had seen them around, he was not familiar with them and had never officially met them before. He had been pretty reclusive before, and even more so after his incident. But he was curious about them. And why the Fatalis opted to adopt them into their ranks. Though he supposed it didn't matter now, did it? His grandfather seemed to have the tendency to do that. "Hey, ya lookin' for s-s-something?"

"Speech!"