💫 mutual suffering mutual suffering
I’m a phoenix in the waterA fish that’s learnt to flyAnd I’ve always been a daughterBut feathers are meant for the sky Gabrielle Aplin - Home
He looks to the sky — yesterday, today, tomorrow. During tasks and requests and own self-disciplined training, yearning, longing, reaching out whenever no one’s around. He knows he can’t grasp the clouds, but he tries regardless. ‘ I’m going there someday ‘, he tells Aaron and clutches the letter with small hands, ‘ to the end. ‘ Aaron doesn’t believe in it ( or maybe there’s something else behind his words ), but Gran does and Gran is stubborn and Gran is working and working for that place only. Each crop he harvests, each ill feeling and endless gratitude to the made sword, each swing he takes is in preparation for the unavoidable due date.
He leaves and it feels amazing. The wooden floor beneath his bare feet and wind in his hair, grabbing and teasing hazel locks and he loves it. It’s scary too. The world is a lot bigger than he could have ever thought and Zinkenstill is a lot smaller than he ever realized. But it’s worth it. Every scar, every anxious worry for new friends, everything. Because there’s also laughter and dunks on bandaged backs and endless blue.
He still looks to the sky, as enamored as when he was six, letter in one hand ( he knows it by heart by now ) and the other reaching out. Held out towards stars and the moon and the sun. He knows he still can’t grasp them, but now they are closer.