[broadcast mind]
There's nothing remarkable about the house. Inside and out, it looks about the same as the one to its right, to its left, and eerily similar to the ones across the way. Anyone who's lived in old-school, military-built family residences wouldn't be too put-off by the similarities here-- there's good reason for this lackluster layout.
Home isn't a town, really. Not a village. Nothing on the grid.
This is The Farm.
You're packing a bag, tossing in only the things detrimental for living out the next few days... and that's only if you get out unnoticed, manage to put distance between yourself and the others, manage to navigate through and beyond those arid badlands, manage to find work. Shelter. All that important stuff.
Because they could always find you. You know it, but you've reached your limit here.
"Are you sure... ? I mean, I do understand, dear. You know I do. But it's dangerous out there, especially for-- "
"No, Ma. I'm sure. I've gotta get out," and you don't mean to be this abrupt, but the sooner she accepts it, the sooner you can leave relatively guilt-free, "We've been over this shit."
A sigh.
"I wish you wouldn't swear."
She stands in your bedroom doorway like a petite phantom, all white linen and long, black hair, hanging in lazy waves over her shoulders, grazing the arms folded stiffly beneath her breasts. Her face, still youthful in the eyes, wizened around the edges of her mouth, betrays nothing but concern and abandon. She's tried for weeks now to talk you out of leaving, but you're stubborn. Headstrong. Naive.
You were raised that way, after all. To never back down from personal wants, but to never lose your joie de vivre. The balance was important.
"I hope Dad's not pissed when he finds out," you say, focus idling down on that duffel bag, fingering the pull before swiping the thing shut, "I think he knew what I wanted to do. Don't think he got that I was serious."
"Don't worry about him, alright?" her step is beyond silent, movement fluid as she finds you, wraps her arms around you, dropping her head with resignation against your chest. You can do nothing but return the embrace, ingrained desert scent rising from her skin, her dress. She's held you many times, from childhood to now, but you're still somehow taken aback by her strength, especially in the frailty she exudes.
Granted, you know what she is. It shouldn't surprise you. Frailty has and will forever be the perfect guise for this lifestyle.
You kiss the top of her head, priorities wavering ... just a moment.
"I'll come back. I'll find you both."
"I know."
Would you have left so fast if you'd known? If you had any clue that the Templars would take in that desert scent before you ever had the chance again...
Well. Too late now. Wake up.