Inan'abelas // DAI; Solas

Breaking Point

"oh but that's the irony,

broken people

are not fragile."

-Clinton Sammy Jr.

~~◇~~

The Graves typically awoke with lonely mornings. Birds were too lazy to chirp, the wind refused to blow, and the river settled on running dreadfully slow. The vast forest was a husk of what it used to be-- a lush haven for both elves and wildlife alike, skipping happily through the grass and the trees. Now this place is just a holder of bark and leaves, its many wonders left to die in crumbles and soot after countless years of tragedy and death.

Ashinne peered up at the towering trees as her eyes pried open, a reminder of only a few lives lost during the Exalted March. In reality, hundreds upon thousands of spirits unknowingly floated around her, caressing the skin of her arms and the fabric of her tattered clothing. Everything that touched this place seemed to find catastrophe, one way or another.

Ashinne was just another soul amongst the many to touch the rich, sacred soil of the Graves.

She lifted her head to watch over her body, staring doubtfully at the frayed seams along the tears in her clothes. Pure cotton, now reduced to singed holes and ashen stains. She would have to trek through the forest with ruined clothing for who knows how long.

The elven mage found the strength to push herself to her knees and looked at her face in the river once more as she stood, shaking the remains of her once luscious locks of dark hair from her shoulders. Her hair now sat awkward and uneven along her jawline, occasionally dipping to her neck every few centimeters or so.

Would be better just to cut it all off at this point.

She sighed at the feeling of the cool grass brushing up against her hot, blistered skin and sticking between her toes as she stood tall, yet insecure. Afraid. There was nothing for her here. Not in the Graves. Not anywhere near here. She knew almost nothing about the places outside of the forest, but knew everything about the people that lingered there.

Outsiders. They walked valiantly, hiding their faces behind a slew of emotions both real and unreal. Some wore masks or expensive clothing and armors, and others humbled themselves by wearing simple cotton shirts just as her people did.

Their intentions were very much unclear. There were those that lived to purge, just as the ones that had ravaged her camp had. And then there were armies of the faithful, caravan-holding merchants, few good-doers, and masses upon masses of the average. Those were the people she enjoyed. Ashinne took joy in sitting among the branches of trees near the paths and watching as they strolled by, each one with a different intent for being there and story to tell.

She was never able to understand why both the keeper and the hahren despised all humans as so.

But now she understood.

Visions of searing flames and clouds of thick smoke burned through her mind, right behind her eyes. She curled her toes against the blades of soft grass, bunched her hands into tight fists, urging to fight off the tears that threatened to spill.

She fell to the dirt, her knees clashing harshly with the hard ground beneath her. The elven maiden cried out in agony, boiling hot tears of anger and sadness piling over her lids. She was helpless, yearning for a savior with an outstretched hand that pushed away the dirt as she lay herself upon the ground. Her tears soaked the century-old soil, the wet sediment collecting underneath her fingernails as she repeatedly clenched and unclenched it with a griping hand. The little wolf tattoo on her ring finger got covered up by the dirt, the tiny thing barely caught her eye.