He left miles of space behind as he traveled to the free marches. His muscles are all too heavy for him to stand, but he manages to present himself well within the establishment. His dried lips could be seen from afar even with his hood on; he couldn't even stand without his stave. A slight itch in the man's throat, a distracting desire to stop what he was doing and find something to drink. Water...
he claimed, barely able to speak, as he sat down and threw what little he had at the counter.
When he is finally able to sit, his eyes become heavy, a result of pushing himself more than he is used to. Even he isn't sure how he is still awake, let alone alive. A tear falls down his cheek, but he quickly wipes it away. It hadn't been an easy couple of years, but he knew exactly how to push it all back. For some, it was an act colder than winter, but it was simply his way of staying in the moment. Allowing his mind to travel too far into the past may cause him to be unable to return. As he waited for his drink, his legs shook up and down in a loop. Wa-
he tried to call out to the bartender, but his vocal cords had dried out and the bar appeared to be full.
He desperately searched the bar for a distraction, as he reached for some semblance of sanity. But he is afraid that if he moves even slightly, he will fall out of his seat, so he relies on his hearing instead. He inhaled and exhaled deliberately for concentration as voices and songs helped him go where his feet couldn't. Lively…
His lone response to the flurry of shatter and color that erupted all around him. He even started to laugh a little, but quickly stopped himself lest he pass out from laughter.
