[/html]2nd july. the waste. private. <3
His thoughts and feelings swayed back and forth with the cool breezes of the summer night. Guilty and uncertain, then indifferent and weary. The darkness was still young and glittering with stars, but his body had not rested since morning, and his mind had not rested in months. Kharma had never had the endurance to be a wanderer. The newness of unfamiliar places and people exhausted him, and he had difficulty quickly processing such experiences into the logical compartments of his mind. He liked too much the comforts of familiarity, but while the rocky shoreline of the Waste one he had walked before, it would never be a place to find comfort.
Moss and sandy weeds had grown into and around the rock. It did not look like a gravestone any longer, camoflouged among the dozens of other broken stones and littered driftwood. His brother was something to be forgotten. There were no happy memories buried with him, only terrible ones, sad ones, empty ones. Kharma remembered best the day he had tried to kill him. Distantly, he wondered how they each might have fared if they had been able to clash again when older. The traveler sat down, as he had years ago, in front of the rock and shed his hood. There was little feeling to be seen in his red eyes, but it was dark -- the moon was only a sliver, the stars were a little shy, and there were no fireflies this close to the sea.
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