some words to aid in the decay

[Laruku Tears]

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Everyone seems to run off at some point, he said passively. Your mother did it a lot. Laruku shrugged, vaguely remembering that he had never run off. He would have lived and died in Clouded Tears if he had been allowed to. It was ironic in many ways just how attached he had grown to the lake and fog despite all the troubles it had brought him, but it was his own name, after all, so maybe it was more appropriate than ironic. The only prolonged departures he had made from his birthplace had been involuntary, but the strange thing was that he didn't know if he missed it. There was probably nothing left but a pile of splinters and ash now, so there wasn't really anything to miss, but he didn't feel anything when he thought about it. There was just a void.



Just an empty book, the hybrid answered. He didn't remember ever really telling anyone about the original book he'd written; it had been a pile of pages tucked away in a corner of his den, half-buried beneath blankets and rabbit skins. Occasionally, he had forgotten about it until he accidentally uncovered it and scribbled in a few more pages, but it was among few possessions he had had that had actually meant something. I've got things to write.

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