@nifscientist
He’d stayed off his feet for nearly a week and a half. Longer than when he’d first shown up in Meldacio, emancipated and weak. He’d allowed Axis and Celene to hover over him like worried mothers. He’d slept in past six a.m. when he’d much rather be awake and working. He’d ignored the nightmares that crept in more and more each day, and the voice that kept whispering in his head whenever he let his guard down. He’d done all these things because they’d asked him to, and because he didn’t want to end up back in the clinic, but there was only so much a man like him could take.
When Titus had been seven his father had lost a finger and been lacerated across the arm thanks to a poorly knotted line while out at sea. He’d stitched it up himself while the boat rolled with the waves, and had gotten back to work. That was how Drautos men were, he’d told Titus once he was back on shore. Life knocks you down, you get back up and keep working. Titus wanted to keep working, despite everyone telling him to relax.
He’d finally woken up this morning and had decided enough was enough. Using the crutch he’d convinced them to give him, he hobbled out of Ezma’s shack and took in a deep breath of air. The night was cool and damp, and his lungs appreciated the fresh inhale.
I want to hunt.
The thought came unbidden, and he ignored it in favor of making his way down the steps and across the road over to the unfinished schoolhouse. It was starting to really look nice, though it needed a fresh layer of paint and some good trimming. Titus found his stool inside, untouched in the weeks since he last used it, and sat down, getting to work.
