My Words | Your Words | My Thoughts
50th of Spring, 515.
His claws struggled to find purchase in the gaps between the layers of bark; whenever they did, the weight of his body was too great and they couldn't hold for very long. He didn't like this new method of climbing but there was no doubt that it couldn't work much faster, once he got the hang of it. Another slip and he nearly tumbled straight out of the tree, erasing nearly half a bell of hard work in a few ticks - again. Another long, tiring day of training had breezed past like a speeding slug and left behind a sticky trail of lethargy threatening to glue his nexus in a constant state of brooding depression - something that'd become almost a norm over the past few days. It wasn't the weather.. it wasn't even the training, really. Just something that'd cropped up, unceremoniously.
Naturally, retiring to the Bronze Woods followed quickly afterwards. It wasn't as crowded and noisy as the Squire Dorms could be after a long day; not to mention that it didn't smell anywhere near as bad. With his mind otherwise occupied though, climbing was suddenly so much harder than before. Yet again, his claws dug into a safe little enclave between thick chunks of bark but as soon as he tried to lever himself up to the next point, his claws bent down the middle and slipped free - scrabbling for the space before proved fruitless as well. If he didn't find a gap his upper body was going to topple out of reach and he'd fly down head-first. Ledge, come on, something, anything, just hold! Grabbing onto one chunk with both paws dug in tight around the edges just about held long enough to find new spots and move away before it, too, crumbled away.
His legs were really straining from the effort of holding the rest of his body for so long. Both arms were tired from the sudden near-death experience. Urgh. He couldn't even climb a tree any more. And what good is a squirrel that can't climb its tree? It was time to get down and go home. He couldn't tell what bell of the evening it was yet but Leth's glow was peeping over the side of Stormhold. When he'd left the castle, Syna's light was still high in the sky. He was out far too late already; another day waited tomorrow and if he wasn't mentally prepared for it, he'd do just as terrible as he'd done today. Sometimes, it made him feel like quitting squirehood altogether. Going back to doing what he'd already done, traveling where he wanted, doing what he wanted. Not being held back by the stupid, arbitrary rules of the knights that said that he wasn't allowed to save someone's life.
He was still angry over that night. Multiple halves of his nexus argued back and forth over it like a huddle of children arguing over who gets to play with the new toy. A large majority knew that he was in the wrong. Other parts claimed it was the knights who were wrong. Yet more said both were wrong; one small part questioned whether anyone at all was wrong or right, though that part wasn't given any attention at all and told to sit in the corner quietly while big children talked. Funny, because it wasn't even related to what the real problem was.. not even close. Just another thing to feel a little bitter about. A false justification that he could use to lie to himself with, when he needed some comfort from the bigger problems.
Not an escape from them though. Just a blanket to hide under, where he could pretend they didn't exist. Still, better than nothing when the time came.. and it would.. to stand up for himself and face his problems. A back-up plan, he'd call it. Everyone needed one of those when the going got rough and heads started rolling. Something to cover his back while he ran away from Syliras and found a new life for himself somewhere else, somewhere quiet and peaceful. Maybe he'd go on a boat and find a new life on a little island somewhere, in a little cave, mining for clay. Petch, when did he get so weird.
The trance broke - and he found himself at the bottom of the tree, staring up at it. Hold on. When did I get down?
