(no subject)
Everything changes, and you adjust. This far in and he can breathe easily enough, though there's a corner of him that's still raw and pained and will be for a time. He has faith. He has to. And if he's wrong in the end, he'll face that when it comes, but he'll fool himself for now for the snatches of happiness he's getting.
And most of the time, it doesn't even feel that bad. It feels like waiting, which he supposes is what he's doing. The people of Israel wandered in the desert for forty years before the Promised Land opened to them. For her, he thinks he'd wait that long.
Though it would be a definite plus if he doesn't have to.
He's musing on these things and on nothing at all as he sits against the Compound wall, twisting strips of vine around each other into what will eventually be several lengths of rope. He needs more; the kitchen could use more fowl and that means snare traps, and what rope he has is inadequate. There's probably some to be had in the Compound, but it seems like a waste to take what he can just make for himself, and the work is calming, meditative. He chews absently at his lip as he works, and the sun pushes the shadows slowly over the ground.
He'll wait. The waiting might even be good for him, in the end.
[ooc: wide open. if you have someone who wants to yell at him, go right ahead. :D otherwise, it's a good time to talk to him in general]
And most of the time, it doesn't even feel that bad. It feels like waiting, which he supposes is what he's doing. The people of Israel wandered in the desert for forty years before the Promised Land opened to them. For her, he thinks he'd wait that long.
Though it would be a definite plus if he doesn't have to.
He's musing on these things and on nothing at all as he sits against the Compound wall, twisting strips of vine around each other into what will eventually be several lengths of rope. He needs more; the kitchen could use more fowl and that means snare traps, and what rope he has is inadequate. There's probably some to be had in the Compound, but it seems like a waste to take what he can just make for himself, and the work is calming, meditative. He chews absently at his lip as he works, and the sun pushes the shadows slowly over the ground.
He'll wait. The waiting might even be good for him, in the end.
[ooc: wide open. if you have someone who wants to yell at him, go right ahead. :D otherwise, it's a good time to talk to him in general]