CLOSED | the light we cast creates a bridge

[matkalainen]

WHO: Tuo, Dain, Vervain, and an existential crisis or two
WHAT: Following directly on the heels of this thread, Vervain has to face some facts about himself. Tuo and Dain try to help.
WHEN: See above.
WHERE: Tuo's wagon outside the village walls.
NOTES: This is bound to be an emotionally Intense thread, but no immediate warnings yet. Will update as needed. Anyway want some appropriate mood music? edit: cw for suicidal ideation

In the weeks since Tuo's unfortunate encounter with the duke's soldiers, he has grown adept at picking his way through the village streets in such a way as to avoid their comings and goings completely. It is more difficult to do this with Vervain Gardener in tow, but not impossible, and so he takes each step carefully as he guides his friend away from the vicarage, through the street, and out towards where Tuo's wagon is tethered in the snow.

"Here we are," he says at last once they have arrived, and keeps hold of Vervain's arm as he leans up the steps to slip the key into the lock, twist it, and push the door open. "Careful," he says to his friend, "there are five steps," and provides the guidance necessary to help him indoors.

Vervain can't see the artful evidence of Tuo's heresy engraved onto the wall panels within the wagon, nor see the warmth and colour imbued to all surfaces of its interior. But it is warm from a wood burning stove, and smells of fragrant tea and spices, and most importantly, it is safe.

"Shall I take your cloak?" Tuo offers gently.

(From a perch further within the wagon, a magpie croaks in irritation that his nap has been interrupted.)
 

Comments

[amaurosisfugax]

Ver's been silent and mournful--as it their destination were a funeral, not Tuo's gladly painted wagon--through the whole walk. He is at least easy to maneuver in this state, halting when his friend does and accepting directions without complaint--or, more worryingly, his usual thanks.

Presented at last with the steps to Tuo's wagon, he takes them at the same leaden plod he used to reach them, each seeming to take something out of him. The cozy warmth awaiting him once he's inside--and the homey, comforting scents--at least go some way toward reviving him from his stupor.

He has his hands knotted in the hems of his cloak by the time Tuo asks for it, and looks momentarily--helplessly--like a child asked to give up a beloved pet. "I," he starts, stops. "Can I keep it?"

Pause. "Just for now." Another pause, longer, made agonizing by how utterly disjointed Ver feels. "...Thank you. For this."