[Flynn + Yuri] But it was not your fault but mine.
~
It’s a truly beautiful day, and as always Ehmead Hill is nothing short of lovely.
The briny air ripples through the salt-rimed grass, the rhythmic crash and hiss of the ocean against the rocks below has the usual soothing quality to it; and farther out, too far for separate waves to be seen, the water looks smooth as glass, a rich sapphire blue stretching out to meet the pale, cloudlessly curving dome of the heavens above.
But it’s not exactly the same as it always was; there’s a second grave on that hill now, this one closer to the crest of the hill, and obviously very fresh.
Flynn Scifo, newly named Acting-Commandant of the Imperial Knights, is kneeling before that new grave, and it’s obvious from his mostly-blank but slight-stricken expression that all the day’s loveliness has gone unnoticed. The rough-hewn gravestone before him, the freshly-turned dirt, the clusters of flowers and other mementos surrounding it, and his own personal thoughts are all that exist for him in that moment. Though he’s dressed neatly in both armour and uniform, just as usual, it’s not hard to tell that he’s been up on that hill for a while. His blonde hair is a mess, his boots and legs from the knees down are damp and muddy, and some of that dirt has managed to get on his face, streaking his cheeks unevenly. His lips are chapped from the brisk and constant sea-breeze, he’s shivering just a bit, and his eyes are red from a combination of sleeplessness, sorrow, and the wind.
He’d come alone, but anyone might have come or gone in the long stretch of time that he’s been kneeling there; he hadn’t noticed if they had, and if he’d been able to consider it, he wouldn’t have cared either. Right now, all that matters is that gravestone, the name on it, and the person it represents. A person who he’d sworn to protect, and had failed to do so in every way imaginable.
It’s a truly beautiful day, and as always Ehmead Hill is nothing short of lovely.
The briny air ripples through the salt-rimed grass, the rhythmic crash and hiss of the ocean against the rocks below has the usual soothing quality to it; and farther out, too far for separate waves to be seen, the water looks smooth as glass, a rich sapphire blue stretching out to meet the pale, cloudlessly curving dome of the heavens above.
But it’s not exactly the same as it always was; there’s a second grave on that hill now, this one closer to the crest of the hill, and obviously very fresh.
Flynn Scifo, newly named Acting-Commandant of the Imperial Knights, is kneeling before that new grave, and it’s obvious from his mostly-blank but slight-stricken expression that all the day’s loveliness has gone unnoticed. The rough-hewn gravestone before him, the freshly-turned dirt, the clusters of flowers and other mementos surrounding it, and his own personal thoughts are all that exist for him in that moment. Though he’s dressed neatly in both armour and uniform, just as usual, it’s not hard to tell that he’s been up on that hill for a while. His blonde hair is a mess, his boots and legs from the knees down are damp and muddy, and some of that dirt has managed to get on his face, streaking his cheeks unevenly. His lips are chapped from the brisk and constant sea-breeze, he’s shivering just a bit, and his eyes are red from a combination of sleeplessness, sorrow, and the wind.
He’d come alone, but anyone might have come or gone in the long stretch of time that he’s been kneeling there; he hadn’t noticed if they had, and if he’d been able to consider it, he wouldn’t have cared either. Right now, all that matters is that gravestone, the name on it, and the person it represents. A person who he’d sworn to protect, and had failed to do so in every way imaginable.