“ in his own country, death can be kind. ” // Ariana , @messianiques ( meme )
he leans his back against the old fence ( it should be white but the paint peels, revealing old wood underneath, and perhaps it’s a whole damned metaphor for this little village, being chipped away, piece by piece, until there’ll be nothing left. ), almost surprised that is can support his weight, and looks away from her, onto the pink and oranges spread over the skies with a masterful brush. if you inhaled, you could almost feel its warmth spread through your lungs, amidst the smell of grasses and clean air. he loves times like these. they feel peaceful and slow, so slow, the way everything is now. that’s how it is –––– having all the time in the world.
( it’s strange hearing such words from a chit of a girl who was what…? how should he know? twelve, he imagines? thirteen? he’s not very good at guessing games ––– but she’s more than young enough to be his daughter. the thought amuses him. in truth, granddaughter is more likely.
the fence draws a physical line between then.
but the fence would be so easy to break. or, more likely than not, hop over. Crow does so hate to bring attention upon himself. )
“ sounds like the words of someone wanting to die, ” he says, and despite their gravity, the words are soft in his mouth. it isn’t on purpose or full of deceit ––– there’s simply no need to rush or stress or worry anymore. not really. so he smiles, somewhere at the corner of his mouth.
“ you’re a little young to say that, don’t you think? plenty of time left for you before that. ”
