leaves all sinking, fever dreaming; ANY

[magnus]

The water thrashes and churns around him, and he closes his eyes, letting the river beat against his war-hardened body. It was tempting to simply lose his footing and give into it, to slip underneath the current and float back out to sea—to the sea that had been his grave for so many decades. Even the thought is enough to cause him to flinch internally, his tongue practically tasting the salt. He shakes his head to rid himself of the memory, but the ghosts remain, carved into him and pressed for all eternity.

Thus, he welcomes the distraction when he hears her approach. He takes a steadying breath and begins to withdraw from the water, the air cool against his dampened flesh. It is impossible to deny that he still longs for it, some part of him never quite settled into this new immortal body. There is a part of him that will always long for that relief, the sweetness that comes with the unknown, with the abyss.

But today is not the day for him to give in.

Today is not the day for him to lose his grip on reality.

So he pulls himself onto the bank, his dappled body darkened and the sun-bleached edges of his mane dripping. Foilage wraps around his scarred legs, the hooves splattered with mud, but underneath the mess, he remains the same—scarred and golden. “Stranger,” he replies in kind, the barest hint of rust in his throat. There is something of her that feels familiar, some part of him responding to the jungle in her, but it’s not enough to dislodge the information in his mind, and he’s left with an unrooted feeling of kinship.

When she peers into his eyes, he doesn’t flinch away. Instead, he holds onto her gaze with the same genuine care he had exhibited in all aspects of his life, unblinking as he memorizes the own variations of color in her own eyes. He does not even flinch at the observation, the words piercing to the core of him. “I have had a long time to see many things,” is all he replies, one corner of his mouth lifting into a crooked, charming smile. “I’m lucky enough to have seen plenty that I do quite enjoy thinking about.”

Nevermind the ghosts. Nevermind the memories of his own body bleeding out onto the beach. Nevermind the memories of Joelle’s skull cracking in front of him. Nevermind the wars, the tears of anguish, those he loved but could not save—those he swore to protect that he had not been enough to carry home.

Nevermind the fractures that spiderweb throughout him.

They are not for here. Not for now.

out of the blue out into the loneliest place that you'll ever know
I carried the world just as far as I could but the damage had taken its toll

scuse. your words are never bad.