Early L’manburg was calm enough.
it began with a sort of uneasy calm. Dirty hands scavenging through the bushes and looking for berries. Waiting for your brother to finish whatever important work he’s doing. Jokingly try to shove your friend in a pond, only to end but soaking wet. It was badly singing along to your brother’s guitar.
Manberg wasn’t the same.
it was people disappearing and having to worry if your best friend was next on the chopping block. It was hiding with your brother and hoping that he was still in there somewhere. It was uneasy alliances and tense times. Your best friend is killed in front of a crowd. You take out your anger best you can but it isn’t enough. The ravine feels just a bit darker after that. Your brother doesn’t play his guitar as often.
Thing didn’t end well. You don’t like to think about it.
New L’manburg was nerve wracking.
You didn’t see much of it. You didn’t hear much of it. The country you once stood for, who is part of you, is unrecognizable. Your best friend has grey hairs (when did he get those?). You see him glaring at you with his eye and you can’t find anything to say. You’re both tired, so tired. He is running a country, he has people to protect.
You don’t like to think about those memories, of being led away, of what came after.
You miss your brother.
