och jag växte upp snabbt, från min barndom var det allt—jag föddes redan slagen

då tänker du tyst och skriker högt, memorerar hela jävla monologen som skrevs för din inre röst,

There was something there—a small reaction, like a jerk of just his eyes, amber and gold snapping his way at the sound of his voice. Just.. something so small it was almost insignificant, but for Mauja, it suddenly meant everything, and yet, nothing.

It meant that he was still alive. It meant that he could be seen, and heard, if it wasn't just the rustle of the wind blowing the stranger's attention this way. But it meant no more than that. There was no random salvation to be found here, up on the celestial mountains, and aside from the odd bit of wisdom you always gleaned from those you met, probably little that would help ease his tired mind. It was wound too tight, clenched, holding on too hard to some concept it should just let go of, traces of demon-days and bitterness and other things clouding the dawn breaking over his life. And he knew that he was his own demon, and that of course no problems would be solved if he went into it with the mindset that there was nothing to learn here, but—

He was so tired beneath it all, that it was hard to do anything differently.

“Yeah, I suppose, if you don’t mind having your lungs ripped out on the way up,” the stranger said after ambling closer. Natural, Mauja supposed, as he had invited him by striking up a conversation—and why on earth had he done that, anyway? Further distraction? Probably. Though, he kind of wished he'd stopped to consider the consequences, because.. it felt like half the time when he interacted with someone, he was either staring vacantly into space and barely listening, or he was fighting to act sane. Like.. like he didn't know how to just be anymore.

And.. he'd done it again, hadn't he? He thought it hadn't always been like this—that there had been a time when he could hold a conversation at a natural pace, with a clear and logical thread running through it, and still somehow think of everything at the same time. Simultaneously. Without going mad. Without losing focus. Without returning that curious, fascinated stare with a spaced-out thoughtful look and complete, utter silence.

Maybe the stranger had begun to doubt his own sanity, staring at blocks of ice and imagining they had talked, that they had eyes and blood in their veins and a heart, maybe, hidden somewhere deep inside that frozen chest—maybe, because he glanced away, almost as if caught in the act of doing something he shouldn't. Mauja blinked. Had he? Had he been doing something wrong?

Gods, how much time had passed anyway? How long had he been silent, getting lost within his own mind time and again? Had it been Mauja's fault the stallion looked away?

Shit, hold yourself together.

The stranger made another attempt—perhaps he was trying to figure out if he truly was mad or not. Mauja's mind ran too fast, and the only coherent thought he had in that moment was that he did not want to place more burdens on this dude, so if he was, indeed, questioning his own sanity.. Mauja could help him with that.

"Mauja," he answered softly, his voice slipping out between dark lips as barely more than a breath. Then, a moment later, the words hesitant and oddly timid, "Was it worth it?"

[ @[Elecampane] ]