#musing tbt

“You know... sometimes I wonder how everyone is doing back home... I don’t care if I’m forgotten... ‘lost to history’ as it were, but I...” He wouldn’t want everyone—everything he’s worked hard to protect all these years to crumble.

Besides, all she wanted to do was sing again. That wasn’t possible for her anymore, either.

He would remain there for some time.

you're a restless person, always moving from one place to another, perpetually occupied with something or other. people call you impatient. hell, you might even call *yourself* impatient! and that's fine, that's just who you are. but you'll wait for some people. you'd sit down and wait for them if they needed you to, and the first time you do, the first time you show them you'll stretch your limited patience to something limitless for them if they need it, it feels almost like a confession. you might not be very patient with the world, but there are exceptions you're more than willing to make. you're so good at making people feel like they're not a burden.

it’s a beautiful thing, truly. the edge shines, razor-sharp, and the hilt gleams with polish. it looks like something that only you could have created. it looks like a part of you, made metal and melted into a blade. every detail and decoration along the hilt makes it really and truly yours. when you use it, it works just as any sword should, right up until the final hit; and then it fails. the final stroke through the dragon’s neck. the final strike against the chains. the final slice through an enemy. right as you need it, truly, it slips. or it catches against something. or it breaks. it fails you, in the end, and through the disaster, you’re not sure if you’re glad to see the dreadful thing finally shatter or heartbroken that it couldn’t stay.