Such a pitiful monument.
Thunder boomed from the heavy clouds, pounding across the dark sky and seeming to shake the heavens. Underneath the dripping boughs of a scrawny tree, Enoch’s hands slowly curled into fists. He struck the ground once, twice. His frustration was lost in the storm.
Hours later, the rain had turned into a wet haze, which hung motionless in the dreary air. Enoch crawled from underneath the boughs and stood for a moment, swaying on his feet, as if waiting for some errant breeze to pull him along. Mud streaked his bare arms, and his light summer trousers were torn and spotted with dead leaves. Master Gershom’s leather boots were strapped tightly around Enoch’s feet with leather bindings, long strips cut from the soldier’s belt to make sure that the durable footwear wouldn’t chafe in the journey ahead.
He rubbed at his swollen eyes and walked around the tree to where he had stashed his master’s swords. The Unit disc hung from a cord at his neck, and it jounced against his chest as he walked. Brushing aside a mound of leaves, his fingers trembled for a moment and then grasped firmly onto the dry, worn leather scabbards. He strapped them around his shoulder and hip with the ease of familiarity and began to walk.
North. Master Gershom said I should go north. To Tenocht.
His legs moved in a slow rhythm through the undergrowth, only losing syncopation to jump over a fallen log or sidestep a game trail. The litania eteria spilled silently from his cracked lips over and over as he waded through the morning mist. After a few hours of walking, the forest began to thin, and Enoch found it exhausting to keep up the stealthy tree-to-tree path he had been following. With every snap of a twig he imagined a horde of clicking coldmen descending on him from behind, but in the end he decided that if they were still on his scent after all the rain, then he would be caught soon enough anyway.
With a sigh of resolution, he stepped from the wet shade of the trees and onto the dirt road which he had been paralleling for hours. To the south, the road disappeared into the gloomy maw of the woods. Straining his eyes to the north, Enoch could see where the woods finally gave way. The land sloped steadily downwards from the green-laced feet of the snowcapped mountains to a broad plain. Large boulders were scattered across the flat expanse like grain tossed for enormous hens, and Enoch could barely make out what seemed to be a river transecting the plain from east to west.
He stood in wonder, almost in confusion. Never in his life had he seen so much flat, treeless land. Fifty shepherds could lose themselves for years in such a place, flocks and all. Enoch experienced a tiny thrill of discovery at the sight, a welcome feeling after so much numbness.
The pensa spada may have kept the grief at bay, but the resulting void had soaked through his entire being. Now Enoch experienced a detached hunger for feeling— any feeling that could make him less empty. That this tiny ray of sensation had been able to pierce the cloud which surrounded him gave Enoch hope. Holding tightly to that mote with whatever strength he had left, Enoch took a timid step. Then another. With growing confidence, he walked down the road, dark eyes quick and wary of this strange new world.
As the midday sun burnt through the gray thatching of clouds, Enoch began to realize that the distant plain was much further away than it seemed. He walked for several hours, occasionally stopping to drink from the common flortasse blossoms. The drip, drip of rainwater from the surrounding trees grew fainter, eventually replaced by the singing of morning birds as they fluttered overhead looking for food.
Stomach growling in response, Enoch pulled the sling from his vest and decided that if he wasn’t going to die any time soon, he might as well find something to eat. He was just stepping from the road when he heard voices coming around the bend behind
Thunder boomed from the heavy clouds, pounding across the dark sky and seeming to shake the heavens. Underneath the dripping boughs of a scrawny tree, Enoch’s hands slowly curled into fists. He struck the ground once, twice. His frustration was lost in the storm.
Hours later, the rain had turned into a wet haze, which hung motionless in the dreary air. Enoch crawled from underneath the boughs and stood for a moment, swaying on his feet, as if waiting for some errant breeze to pull him along. Mud streaked his bare arms, and his light summer trousers were torn and spotted with dead leaves. Master Gershom’s leather boots were strapped tightly around Enoch’s feet with leather bindings, long strips cut from the soldier’s belt to make sure that the durable footwear wouldn’t chafe in the journey ahead.
He rubbed at his swollen eyes and walked around the tree to where he had stashed his master’s swords. The Unit disc hung from a cord at his neck, and it jounced against his chest as he walked. Brushing aside a mound of leaves, his fingers trembled for a moment and then grasped firmly onto the dry, worn leather scabbards. He strapped them around his shoulder and hip with the ease of familiarity and began to walk.
North. Master Gershom said I should go north. To Tenocht.
His legs moved in a slow rhythm through the undergrowth, only losing syncopation to jump over a fallen log or sidestep a game trail. The litania eteria spilled silently from his cracked lips over and over as he waded through the morning mist. After a few hours of walking, the forest began to thin, and Enoch found it exhausting to keep up the stealthy tree-to-tree path he had been following. With every snap of a twig he imagined a horde of clicking coldmen descending on him from behind, but in the end he decided that if they were still on his scent after all the rain, then he would be caught soon enough anyway.
With a sigh of resolution, he stepped from the wet shade of the trees and onto the dirt road which he had been paralleling for hours. To the south, the road disappeared into the gloomy maw of the woods. Straining his eyes to the north, Enoch could see where the woods finally gave way. The land sloped steadily downwards from the green-laced feet of the snowcapped mountains to a broad plain. Large boulders were scattered across the flat expanse like grain tossed for enormous hens, and Enoch could barely make out what seemed to be a river transecting the plain from east to west.
He stood in wonder, almost in confusion. Never in his life had he seen so much flat, treeless land. Fifty shepherds could lose themselves for years in such a place, flocks and all. Enoch experienced a tiny thrill of discovery at the sight, a welcome feeling after so much numbness.
The pensa spada may have kept the grief at bay, but the resulting void had soaked through his entire being. Now Enoch experienced a detached hunger for feeling— any feeling that could make him less empty. That this tiny ray of sensation had been able to pierce the cloud which surrounded him gave Enoch hope. Holding tightly to that mote with whatever strength he had left, Enoch took a timid step. Then another. With growing confidence, he walked down the road, dark eyes quick and wary of this strange new world.
As the midday sun burnt through the gray thatching of clouds, Enoch began to realize that the distant plain was much further away than it seemed. He walked for several hours, occasionally stopping to drink from the common flortasse blossoms. The drip, drip of rainwater from the surrounding trees grew fainter, eventually replaced by the singing of morning birds as they fluttered overhead looking for food.
Stomach growling in response, Enoch pulled the sling from his vest and decided that if he wasn’t going to die any time soon, he might as well find something to eat. He was just stepping from the road when he heard voices coming around the bend behind
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