>>6260082

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You are only barely aware of the world rushing around you.
The smells, the occasional buzzing of bees as they pass around your ears, the chanting of the Priests, the gazes of faces — you wouldn’t be able to recognise them, they are not your friends’s or Master’s… or your family’s… — as they gape at you from the shores.
It seems the tale of the silver-haired prisoner is spreading.
People gather, people talk.
And point.
And curse.
But you could bear all that.
You wouldn’t give it much thought.
You faced the Seven, you faced the—
You—
You were with your friends…
And with Ansàrra.
Not naked like a worm on a rough barge, the shadow of cypresses rows falling upon you like bars.
And alone.
“B-By day, by dawn we… we bright… we…” the words flow by your chapped lips.
The cameo upon your hand keeps burning.

[cont.]