When Fight Takes Hold
18th Trial of Cylus, Arc 718
Permanence was not to be expected when one lived a life such as Freya’s. It was that of a wanderer’s dream to settle down with a lover, on a farm in the rural plains of Ne’haer, and bare children of which she could grow old watching over. She’d dreamt of this some nights, when not overcome by the scars upon her soul and sometimes, Freya thought she could still have it: a life. A normal life… but she had never been born into one so why start now?A chill ran up her spine as she swung another foot forward, burying the heel of her boot deep within the snow’s icy grip. It was hard to walk in this shit— to see, to breathe, to survive. Breaks passed where all she could think of was one more step closer, one more step further away, because if she was honest with herself, the biqaj needed to get away.
She’d made connections in the most unlikely of people, even established a lover or two, but those ties began to take root and with that, concern that she’d be hunted and captured, or worse… liked.
However, it was time to leave that in the past and focus on what she should be doing instead, which meant dragging her coin from out of the floorboards and fetching herself a boat. The tour Naomi had given Freya provided her with enough detail to understand that Egilrun was the town to buy a bought from. Counting her coins upon the floor of the inn made Freya realize she probably had not the amount needed for such a trade and cursed.
“I’m getting off this sarding island one way or another…” She muttered to herself, tucking items away into her pack.
That had been nearly two days ago and already, Freya was done with traveling. One step closer, one step further away… One step closer, one step further away… It was a mantra she had found to help push back the negative thoughts in her mind. When the fire would burn low when the wind picked up, when the tent would topple over on her in the middle of the night, when Cylus would push open her cloak and embrace her with fury, burning her skin in its wake, Freya would repeat the words.
The lantern she carried was only bright enough to cast light on the ground in front of her, leaving everything else in near darkness, save for the sun in the sky that looked like it had been punched through. Off in the distance, she saw small dots that indicated she was nearly there and, lifting her bag higher onto her shoulder, Freya ventured on quicker than she had before.