‘Do not mistaken labor for disinterest--- ‘ I had said once, and the words had held true since the moment shared between two forms of existence, an echoing promise from creation to another, perhaps it was even the first promise. Not that shared from breath and that which was given, nor that of end towards that which I have taken. But a true promise, that they would come together again in this endless circle of their dance.
And thus, there is only the shift of sandal through blood soaked sand. A gentle stride made through the wisps lifting from those departed, from those still lingering, and those hanging on only by the threads of their teeth. Interesting thing it was, this creation of war. They were gifted their own course of free will; and of course as any beast would had taken it and reduced themselves to their most feral.
I would almost pity them; but it is how it is.
“Did I not say that we would meet again.”
@applegave - from the first, after their first departure.
