You have watched the boy and his beast from a perch among the mountains in his fruitless wanderings for a time. At first it hadn’t been exactly clear what he had been looking for—if he was lost, or needed medical attention and sought it within the North, as a woman with her newborn child had what feels like too long ago—or if he had lost someone, and out of all the places he could have gone felt that he needed to search here among the dust, the sleepers, the fractured and crumbling ruin of what once was (and still could be) great. And so you have only watched with mild interest, curious of his motives all the while, protective of your valley and its pines, the souls that rest underneath, only watched the silver boy, his hound, as he has come close and not traversed the hidden little path up the mountain what feels like a half dozen times, silent from your place among the rust and decay.
You only watch, until, finally, he calls out. You remain for moments, weary of the stranger, his reasonings, though by now you doubt anything perverse, until you finally give in to him with a sigh, moving to greet the lost boy. Tucked within the curls of your lily hair is numerous clippings from branches and flowers, and there is mud from the warming world caked to your lower legs, speckled along the rest of your body from a morning’s collection; none of this even crosses your mind as you come to pause a ways from him, a quick glance extended to the creature lingering near, an even quicker smile ghosting along your lips in shallow courtesy. “What is it that you’re looking for there?” The simple reply comes, twisting with curiosity (suspicion), your eyes narrowing nearly imperceptibly along the wistful lines of your feminine face.
but I’ve pushed myself down so far—
I couldn’t come back if I tried
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