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Tired of all these cameras flashing, sick of being poised
She had forgotten about Knox, about her... rank.
He (and her responsibilities) had become sadly inconsequential in face of her degraded body and debased mind. While she wandered, expertly portraying herself as a patrolling herd member, her thoughts drifted into shadow and slithered into sinful self-indulgence. At some point she would need to return to reality, continue to do as she was always planned to do: but for now... she wallowed in waters of self-pity and sunk to her knees in self-doubt.
She had questioned and doubted herself before, but the questions had always been philosophical in nature. (If she was doing the right thing; if she was doing her thing the wrong way.) Never had she felt humiliated or objectified or self-doubting. Never had her questions revolved around wondering if she was incapable of doing what she was meant to do. While she had doubted her morality—she hadn't doubted her capabilities.
... Nymeria knew she did not have the time to let herself rot away much longer.
Winter did not slacken its grip. A week or two had permitted stronger sunshine, blooming flowers, wet grass—and then winter returned in full strength. Her winter coat grew thick again. Fuzz lined her jaw. She was not cold, but she was not warm. Under the dim and dull light of the sun she drifted towards the waterfalls, Lilómiel flapping overhead. At some point or another she had faintly remembered a meeting; even if spring was not here, she figured she should start making an effort soon.
I have nothing to tell him.
... But she had no other choice.
@Knox
Yes I lied, don't think about you all the time
All my switchblade words ain't aim to cut your sweet delusions
