#wanderings.

No matter how quiet and reverant his footsteps, Robin's footfalls upon the stone floor still echo in the eaves of the church. He walks, alone, down the aisle, passing rows of prayer books and hard wooden pews. Leaden though his feet are, he comes to the confessional box sooner rather than later. It is a place he both dreads and yearns for. Forgiveness is always sought, yet the confession itself is a process he still finds painful.

He opens the door, closing it behind him as he sits down. The dimness enfolds him, heavy and oppressive as the blackest hour of night. His guilt weighs far more than any darkness ever could. He closes his eyes, lets out a breath. Two fingers rise, forehead to sternum, right shoulder to left.

There is an ache that is beginning to spread from his tired feet throughout his body. It has already settled in his shoulders, which have been laden heavily with all his worldly possessions the majority of the day. The air is cooling from the approaching autumn, but it isn't cool enough for his tastes. He yearns for a cold breeze to ease the sweat beading upon his brow.

So intent is he on the simple act of putting one foot in front of the other that he doesn't notice who is around him, his eyes trained upon the ground; the apple that rolls across his path is impossible to miss though. Groaning, he bends to pick it up and in rising he sees its owner, a young maiden with long hair, walking with a brimming basket. For a moment, he's tempted to sink his teeth into the apple and pretend it was merely a gift from nature; instead, he quickens his pace, sword, quiver, bow and satchel jostling uncomfortably.

It's hardly a polite greeting; it's scarcely even a greeting at all, more a blunt observation, yet the words just seem to spill from Robin's lips. Normally his manners aren't lacking. He doesn't even realise his rudeness until she turns to him, at which he, promptly and ironically, turns his face from her gaze in shame.

Robin has seen much; often, it feels like too much. It hasn't been long since he'd returned to his country, yet he finds his mind is still on the battlefield. He is home and he is far away; he is everywhere and nowhere all at once. The sister has a good eye, or perhaps it is obvious, that he is a soldier not long returned home.

Relief relaxes Robin's shoulders. While it might be expected that a man of the church take pity on a member of his flock, Robin has found that it hasn't always been the case. Plenty have sent him on his way, making this encounter fill him all the more with gratitude. It isn’t even hard work he’s been given.