Sky's shockingly blue eyes fluttered, as if trying to escape the clutches of his dreams, which had held him for so long now. At the new motion, birds took flight, and squirrels ran, which, to anyone who was a hunter, and not just a huntsman, would be like a trail straight to him. Feeling returned to his body, slowly, sensations drifting through the filter of sleep.
Then, all at once, his eyes snapped open, and he returned to himself. Blue... finnek forest blue. At the sight, memories return, of his times at syne. He wondered if he was destined to forever come and go, leave and return this place, as if he were a rock, skipping over the lake of Syne.
Not that he was dissatisfied, really, but the moanings of depression were a hard habit to break. He felt at his sides, then, in at sort of panicked rush, which calmed only when he found his swords, Wind and Rain, hanging dutifully there. Some had called him superstitious, but he really did feel like his weapons were an extension of him, his soul.
Certainly they were the extension of his duty, and a grim reminder of his resolve. For he could never think of his swords without seeing the faces of his fallen team, burdening him with the weight of their deaths, though he knew they would never burden him so by choice.
There, now he had assessed his mental state, clarity returned, and with it the cool sense of detachment he had learned to maintain, lest he be rendered catatonic by the weight of depression and grief. Now, he assessed his body, checking for any damages by flexing each part slowly. Nothing to note, except that he was feeling very rusty. Who knew how long he had been out this time.
He climbed to his feet, using wind to lever himself up. He nearly fell over, as his legs threatened to collapse beneath him. Resolute, he started to hobble torwards bellmuse, using his swords as crutches.
It was a long walk to Bellmuse on creaking groaning legs. Sky set his face to that of a small grimace which did not do his pain justice, and hobbled on in spite. He used to have fun climbing up the rocks and the trees to Syne, which was said to be reachable only by airship, but such a feat was completely beyond him at this point.
Don't think it... don't think it... a big believer in luck, especially bad luck, he was trying his best not to jynx himself by thinking the only thing that could make this better is if a grimm showed up... Shit. Damn exposition.
He felt it, first, a small prickling on the back of his neck a weight not unlike fog curling about his shoulders. Then the growl pierced through the clearing, and ushered off the sounds of life. He turned, weary and resigned. So, this is where I meet my end, huh? After all this time, it ends like this.
He knew he wasn't in any condition to fight, yet he couldn't simply lie down and die, so his mind was already formulating a plan. He could dodge, sending sparks under the plates in his boots, and use the roll to slash. That would work if it was one Grimm. Maybe. That dead tree there might provide a solid opportunity. He sheathed wind and readied himself to try and defy fate.
Then, all at once, his eyes snapped open, and he returned to himself. Blue... finnek forest blue. At the sight, memories return, of his times at syne. He wondered if he was destined to forever come and go, leave and return this place, as if he were a rock, skipping over the lake of Syne.
Not that he was dissatisfied, really, but the moanings of depression were a hard habit to break. He felt at his sides, then, in at sort of panicked rush, which calmed only when he found his swords, Wind and Rain, hanging dutifully there. Some had called him superstitious, but he really did feel like his weapons were an extension of him, his soul.
Certainly they were the extension of his duty, and a grim reminder of his resolve. For he could never think of his swords without seeing the faces of his fallen team, burdening him with the weight of their deaths, though he knew they would never burden him so by choice.
There, now he had assessed his mental state, clarity returned, and with it the cool sense of detachment he had learned to maintain, lest he be rendered catatonic by the weight of depression and grief. Now, he assessed his body, checking for any damages by flexing each part slowly. Nothing to note, except that he was feeling very rusty. Who knew how long he had been out this time.
He climbed to his feet, using wind to lever himself up. He nearly fell over, as his legs threatened to collapse beneath him. Resolute, he started to hobble torwards bellmuse, using his swords as crutches.
It was a long walk to Bellmuse on creaking groaning legs. Sky set his face to that of a small grimace which did not do his pain justice, and hobbled on in spite. He used to have fun climbing up the rocks and the trees to Syne, which was said to be reachable only by airship, but such a feat was completely beyond him at this point.
Don't think it... don't think it... a big believer in luck, especially bad luck, he was trying his best not to jynx himself by thinking the only thing that could make this better is if a grimm showed up... Shit. Damn exposition.
He felt it, first, a small prickling on the back of his neck a weight not unlike fog curling about his shoulders. Then the growl pierced through the clearing, and ushered off the sounds of life. He turned, weary and resigned. So, this is where I meet my end, huh? After all this time, it ends like this.
He knew he wasn't in any condition to fight, yet he couldn't simply lie down and die, so his mind was already formulating a plan. He could dodge, sending sparks under the plates in his boots, and use the roll to slash. That would work if it was one Grimm. Maybe. That dead tree there might provide a solid opportunity. He sheathed wind and readied himself to try and defy fate.
