#soursoil.

ever since the attack, freyja’s physical body was permanently scarred and inner psyche heavily altered. it was a miracle that he even managed to survive, druids from a nearby settlement having discovered his crumpled body that lay on the forest floor in a pool of blood. it was as if the last manifestation of luck within his being invited them to him. 

recovery was a brutal process both physically and mentally, having to re-learn how to walk once more with a prosthetic that resembled a rabbit's hind leg. alas, the steady flame of confidence he once exerted had significantly dwindled into a flickering flame. 

hazel eyes that used to gaze ahead at the future now glance down at the ground, focus seemingly on the shadow of his being. it always seemed to be a few steps ahead, unable to be caught no matter how quickly freyja ran. 

your shadow is walking faster than you. he was immediately broken from his thoughts, hazel eyes quickly darting over to the figure a short distance away from him. how long was he there to notice such a thing? swallowing thickly, he quietly spoke up.

what a funny phrase: your priest. percy's parents have always disdained religion, both mainstream & the occult; her father believes only in science's empirical facts, and if janice has any philosophical bent she's never shared her thoughts with her stepdaughter. still, percy knows what he means. she isn't any creature from the bible, though some might point at her abilities and cry witch! but witches of christian tales make deals with the devil, and percy's powers aren't from anything so intentional. whatever she is, she was born to it.

maybe they're alike, in that way.

the tides of chaos were once irrevocably in freyja's favor, luck previously following his every footstep. . . except when it came to holding a long-form conversation, before and after the incident. his replies were often curt and words sparse, creating a short-lived environment between him and the other party.

it were the remaining tides that would shift in his favor whenever a topic of interest would come about. a look of intrigue gracing his features whenever there was mentions of magic. it always brought out more words from him, allowing him to share the vast expanse of his magical knowledge. unfortunately, such knowledge pales greatly in comparison to the saint redsun's own . . . the very being that freyja had been rambling to.

it wasn't until a faint hushing noise caught his attention, hazel eyes darting to find the source. that is when he sees harlon raising a finger in a gesture of silence. embarrassment quickly washes over him and once upright ears droop towards the ground.