lyric.
nervewrack
“You should let me shoot apples off of your head, Leo.”
⇒ The thought occurred to them as they bit into what was surely the last of the season’s fruits, the cold approaching and curling its spindly fingers around every branch and blade of grass it could find. Herbs would start to get harder to find, animal-specific materials even harder if they hibernated. Lyric takes another bite out of the apple and frowns at the thought.
the young man tugs his fur cloak tighter around himself as the wind bites at his nose, his cheeks, his ears. never in his life has he taken well to the cold. it reminds him of the times where he’d be thrown into a cell of the spire for messing up one little thing, or just because the templars were annoyed with him. it was always cold in them, the walls always damp. the cold brought back memories.
“why?” leo inquires incredulously, eyes narrowing towards them. lips purse into a thin, tight line and he inches away from them. “maybe we should save them to eat instead of shooting arrows through them...”