Yu hurled himself to the ground.
He seized his backpack and tore out the upper layers of clothing. He struggled to get the rest, let go, rose halfway, hooked the bag with one talon, and then shook it, violently, harder and harder still, until the contents burst free and scattered all across the room. He tossed the pack and spun around on the spot, eyes skimming the chaos for the few items between the sodden fabrics: papers warped by damp, a compass, a wallet with a few coins. Pens. Envelopes. Nothing that mattered.
That was it. That was his life — objects without weight or use, scattered across bare stone.
There had been books, also, one on geography and one on languages, but Yu had tossed them weeks ago, somewhere along the base of the Snowtrail. The memory surfaced without reason. Why the fuck was he thinking about the books? He had not read them and he had not wanted them. Tria had given them to him in parting, and Yu had thrown them out just as quickly. They had been bothersome weight. So now they were gone. They did not matter one bit.
Nothing mattered except getting out.
Yu scrambled about. He forced half the mess back into the pack. He shoved everything down with his wings and then crouched over it to work the ropes with his beak and talons. He pinned them awkwardly, fumbled, retied, meddled with the knots some more, and then fastened the top buckle.
No tent.
The thought struck clean and sudden. Yu pushed back just as fast. He could not manage one. Never had. And weight mattered. Speed mattered. Distance mattered.
He needed to be gone, fast and far away.
Tomorrow. No, tonight. As soon as possible.
Right now —
But how? HOW?
How?
How? Yu could not stop his meddling.
The ropes slipped.
HOW? The buckle would not click.
His body would not set t le.
How? His thoughts were a mess of anxiet y.
How? He had no clarity, no answer. How?
HOW? He tried void breathing, How? How?
but the air would not slow; HOw?
How? it .caught. and s’tut.t.’er,.ed. in his chest. HOw? How?
The shaking worsende, HoW? How?
HoW? His bod’.y t r.’e:’m.’b:le’d. s,‘o’ v’io.l’.e,.n’.t;’l,y How?
How? he needed to .#STOP#.#with#.#the#.#buckle#. How?
He felt it coming,
the familiar edge approaching, How?
How? where control narrowed
until there was only te—n——-s-–i—on left,
How? the moment when everything seized; HOW?
How? he was at the brink of freezing up again.
Yu hurled himself to the ground.
He seized his backpack and tore out the upper layers of clothing. He struggled to get the rest, let go, rose halfway, hooked the bag with one talon, and then shook it, violently, harder and harder still, until the contents burst free and scattered all across the room. He tossed the pack and spun around on the spot, eyes skimming the chaos for the few items between the sodden fabrics:
papers warped by damp,
a compass,
a wallet with a few coins.
Pens. Envelopes.
Nothing that mattered.
That was it.
That was his life
— objects
without weight or use,
scattered across
bare stone.
There had been books, also, one on geography and one on languages, but Yu had tossed them weeks ago, somewhere along the base of the Snowtrail. The memory surfaced without reason.
Why the fuck was he thinking about the books?
He had not read them and he had not wanted them. Tria had given them to him in parting, and Yu had thrown them out just as quickly. They had been bothersome weight. So now they were gone. They did not matter one bit.
Nothing mattered
except getting out.
Yu scrambled about. He forced half the mess back into the pack. He shoved everything down with his wings and then crouched over it to work the ropes with his beak and talons. He pinned them awkwardly, fumbled, retied, meddled with the knots some more, and then fastened the top buckle.
No tent.
The thought struck clean and sudden. Yu pushed back just as fast. He could not manage one. Never had. And weight mattered. Speed mattered. Distance mattered. He needed to be gone, fast and far away.
Tomorrow. No, tonight.
As soon as possible.
Right now —
But how?
HOW?
How? How?
Yu could not stop
HOW? his meddling.
The ropes slipped.
The buckle would not click.
His body would not set t le.
How? His thoughts
were a mess of anxiet y.
He had no clarity, How?
no answer. How?
He tried void breathing. . HOW? How? How?
but the air HOw?
How? would not slow;
it .caught. HOw?
and s’tut.t.’er,.ed. How?
How? in his chest.
The shaking HoW?
worsende, How?
His bod’.y t r.’e:’m.’b:le’d.
How? s,‘o’ v’io.l’.e,.n’.t;’l,y
How? he needed
HoW? to .#STOP#.
#with#.#the#.#buckle#.
How? He felt it coming,
the familiar edge How?
How? approaching,
where control narrowed
until there was only
te—n——-s-–i—on left,
HoW? the moment when
everything seized;
he was at the brink
of freezing up again.
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