if they won't stop him, then he'll try to leave - it's the only thing he can control [open]
Who: Cedric Diggory - if anyone would have a reason to hear or find him when he gets back, be my guest
What: getting the hell out of Dodge Jhelbor
Where: mostly the road to the south of the city
When: Wednesday morning - Friday night
Cedric walked past Mikney and away from the city center, leaving him with his paint and the magic that he couldn't understand. If he insisted that the elves weren't keeping him there, then he should be able to just leave. Maybe eventually he'd hit the end of... something. None of this felt real, and whatever it was - hell, a dream, a nightmare - there was no way that his mind could invent an entire world in accurate detail. Eventually he'd have to reach the end of it. He stepped beyond the gate, passing a few elves who made no move to stop him. He came out in a wooded area on the opposite side of the city from that damn tree, and started walking, looking idly from side to side, but not back. He didn't want to see if anyone was watching him. He didn't know which answer would upset him more. There was a road off to the right, on the adjacent side of the city. It seemed as good an option as any, and following a road was mindless - Cedric could lose himself in a rhythm and, if he was lucky, tire himself into not thinking.
There wasn't much to see, and morning passed into afternoon with almost no change. Cedric hadn't been taking the greatest care of himself since he'd arrived, but that had only been a week, and he was still in great shape. His pace ate up the miles evenly and steadily, and the forest passed by him on either side, never changing much. For all he knew, he could be stuck in a loop, walking the same mile over and over again. He wasn't entirely sure that he cared. There was fruit growing in the forest - berries, and what looked like some tiny little apples, and a stream not too far from the road. He walked until the road suddenly forked off in three directions. The sun was still a decent distance above the treeline. Six, maybe? Cedric glanced down the fork leading left, and the fork leading right, but they both looked essentially identical to the road that stretched out in front of him, so he just kept walking straight.
If he'd reached the fork at six, then it was probably eleven-thirty or midnight when he finally stopped. He was finally tired enough to actually sleep, and it almost felt like home, out in the trees, in the wilderness. His father had taken him camping when he was young. No, he wasn't thinking about that. The evening was warm, and the forest ground was soft enough to be comfortable, and for four or five hours he slept surprisingly well.
It wasn't quite dawn when he woke again, but it was close. He was getting kind of sick of the berries. He almost wished he had some of that awful plain bread they'd given him in the city. At least the early morning yesterday had been cool enough to warrant the cloak - last night would have been truly awful without a pillow/blanket combo. He walked all day, until it felt like his heart was beating in time with his steps. He jogged for a while, just to change things up, but the road seemed to simply stretch on forever. It was Thursday evening when Cedric noticed something was wrong. It wasn't anything he could put his finger on, just... something wrong. Then there was a whooshing sound, and a crackling, and the heat. Ok, yeah, this was definitely hell, because there was a huge, roiling wave of fire coming straight at him. Cedric's first instinct was to apparate, but when he tried there was still nothing there. There was no time to feel the pain of the loss, however, because self preservation instinct took over and he was running, flat out and with every ounce of energy he had. He probably wouldn't have been able to outrun the fire if not for the fact that it seemed to be slowing down. Cedric didn't notice that at the time, of course - he just ran. He ran even after the fire stopped moving. He ran until he couldn't feel the heat on his back any more, and when he was very certain that he was a safe distance, only then did he stop. Cedric held as still as he could, closed one eye, and held his hand up so that his fingers were just even with the top of the wall of fire. He counted to ten in his head. It didn't move.
He walked back very slowly, taking deep breaths until his heart rate slowed to resting. The fire had just... stopped. It was an actual wall of flame. Cedric walked to the uninjured part of the forest and picked a dry branch off the ground. He walked back to the wall in the middle of the road, and stuck the branch into the flame. When he pulled it out, it stayed lit, burning and crackling slowly.
He'd almost died... again. What really surprised him, though, was how hard he'd fought to live, even in this place, where he didn't really feel alive to begin with. Cedric threw the stick into the wall of flame, stripped off his slightly singed cloak, and his shirt, wrapped them both up into a bundle that he could carry in one hand, and set off back in the direction he'd come from. The sound of running water brought him back to what may or may not have been the same stream, not that he cared. He drank until his throat didn't feel overheated any more. He soaked the shirt in the water and put it back on, sighing in relief. It was tempting to leave the cloak, but he knew he'd need it come night fall, so he just balled it up again. He ran for a little while, the adrenaline still in his system giving him a store of energy that he knew wouldn't last, and would be lost if he just waited for it to leave his system. He ran until he started to feel the tingle and drag that meant the adrenaline was gone. He picked a handful of berries, popping them into his mouth while he walked to keep his blood sugar up, and kept his eyes peeled for another cluster of bright red fruit in the bushes, repeating until he didn't feel shaky any more. Night fell, and he couldn't even begin to think of sleeping, so he just kept walking, running when the dawn light was bright enough to see by and the air was still cool enough to up his stamina.
The two other forks in the road weren't even tempting. For all he knew, there was fire waiting for him down both of those roads as well. Besides, he'd told Ginny that he'd come see her again. It was late when he got back to the city, the sun long gone below the treeline. He was tired, and he could still smell smoke on himself. He was tired enough to not care that he was supposed to hate this place and these people. He was too tired to care, though, and he stumbled through the city and back to the room they'd put him in, collapsing on top of the bed and wriggling out of the smoke smelling clothes and underneath the blanket. He just wanted to sleep.
What: getting the hell out of Dodge Jhelbor
Where: mostly the road to the south of the city
When: Wednesday morning - Friday night
Cedric walked past Mikney and away from the city center, leaving him with his paint and the magic that he couldn't understand. If he insisted that the elves weren't keeping him there, then he should be able to just leave. Maybe eventually he'd hit the end of... something. None of this felt real, and whatever it was - hell, a dream, a nightmare - there was no way that his mind could invent an entire world in accurate detail. Eventually he'd have to reach the end of it. He stepped beyond the gate, passing a few elves who made no move to stop him. He came out in a wooded area on the opposite side of the city from that damn tree, and started walking, looking idly from side to side, but not back. He didn't want to see if anyone was watching him. He didn't know which answer would upset him more. There was a road off to the right, on the adjacent side of the city. It seemed as good an option as any, and following a road was mindless - Cedric could lose himself in a rhythm and, if he was lucky, tire himself into not thinking.
There wasn't much to see, and morning passed into afternoon with almost no change. Cedric hadn't been taking the greatest care of himself since he'd arrived, but that had only been a week, and he was still in great shape. His pace ate up the miles evenly and steadily, and the forest passed by him on either side, never changing much. For all he knew, he could be stuck in a loop, walking the same mile over and over again. He wasn't entirely sure that he cared. There was fruit growing in the forest - berries, and what looked like some tiny little apples, and a stream not too far from the road. He walked until the road suddenly forked off in three directions. The sun was still a decent distance above the treeline. Six, maybe? Cedric glanced down the fork leading left, and the fork leading right, but they both looked essentially identical to the road that stretched out in front of him, so he just kept walking straight.
If he'd reached the fork at six, then it was probably eleven-thirty or midnight when he finally stopped. He was finally tired enough to actually sleep, and it almost felt like home, out in the trees, in the wilderness. His father had taken him camping when he was young. No, he wasn't thinking about that. The evening was warm, and the forest ground was soft enough to be comfortable, and for four or five hours he slept surprisingly well.
It wasn't quite dawn when he woke again, but it was close. He was getting kind of sick of the berries. He almost wished he had some of that awful plain bread they'd given him in the city. At least the early morning yesterday had been cool enough to warrant the cloak - last night would have been truly awful without a pillow/blanket combo. He walked all day, until it felt like his heart was beating in time with his steps. He jogged for a while, just to change things up, but the road seemed to simply stretch on forever. It was Thursday evening when Cedric noticed something was wrong. It wasn't anything he could put his finger on, just... something wrong. Then there was a whooshing sound, and a crackling, and the heat. Ok, yeah, this was definitely hell, because there was a huge, roiling wave of fire coming straight at him. Cedric's first instinct was to apparate, but when he tried there was still nothing there. There was no time to feel the pain of the loss, however, because self preservation instinct took over and he was running, flat out and with every ounce of energy he had. He probably wouldn't have been able to outrun the fire if not for the fact that it seemed to be slowing down. Cedric didn't notice that at the time, of course - he just ran. He ran even after the fire stopped moving. He ran until he couldn't feel the heat on his back any more, and when he was very certain that he was a safe distance, only then did he stop. Cedric held as still as he could, closed one eye, and held his hand up so that his fingers were just even with the top of the wall of fire. He counted to ten in his head. It didn't move.
He walked back very slowly, taking deep breaths until his heart rate slowed to resting. The fire had just... stopped. It was an actual wall of flame. Cedric walked to the uninjured part of the forest and picked a dry branch off the ground. He walked back to the wall in the middle of the road, and stuck the branch into the flame. When he pulled it out, it stayed lit, burning and crackling slowly.
He'd almost died... again. What really surprised him, though, was how hard he'd fought to live, even in this place, where he didn't really feel alive to begin with. Cedric threw the stick into the wall of flame, stripped off his slightly singed cloak, and his shirt, wrapped them both up into a bundle that he could carry in one hand, and set off back in the direction he'd come from. The sound of running water brought him back to what may or may not have been the same stream, not that he cared. He drank until his throat didn't feel overheated any more. He soaked the shirt in the water and put it back on, sighing in relief. It was tempting to leave the cloak, but he knew he'd need it come night fall, so he just balled it up again. He ran for a little while, the adrenaline still in his system giving him a store of energy that he knew wouldn't last, and would be lost if he just waited for it to leave his system. He ran until he started to feel the tingle and drag that meant the adrenaline was gone. He picked a handful of berries, popping them into his mouth while he walked to keep his blood sugar up, and kept his eyes peeled for another cluster of bright red fruit in the bushes, repeating until he didn't feel shaky any more. Night fell, and he couldn't even begin to think of sleeping, so he just kept walking, running when the dawn light was bright enough to see by and the air was still cool enough to up his stamina.
The two other forks in the road weren't even tempting. For all he knew, there was fire waiting for him down both of those roads as well. Besides, he'd told Ginny that he'd come see her again. It was late when he got back to the city, the sun long gone below the treeline. He was tired, and he could still smell smoke on himself. He was tired enough to not care that he was supposed to hate this place and these people. He was too tired to care, though, and he stumbled through the city and back to the room they'd put him in, collapsing on top of the bed and wriggling out of the smoke smelling clothes and underneath the blanket. He just wanted to sleep.