Cerulean Cape dig a hole and bury all the memories we've made

gods, even dying she finds a way to be irritating. he scoffs at her then, tapping a paw against the sand impatiently. "the brilliant samaantine messeda, giving up just like that?" it's framed as a teasing remark, but his voice is flat, a dangerous edge in his eyes. 

he'd imagined this scenario before, the roles reversed: her coming after him, finding him in some ditch having bitten off more than he could chew. would she help him, he'd wondered, or would she stay to watch his agony?

or would she simply walk away?

it would be easy, he thinks. it would be what she would do, probably, and it's easy. she can bleed out in the sand, this ghost of his past that should never have been here at all. the silver-hued boy lifts his paw as if to take a step back.

instead, samothes sighs. "perhaps some other time," he says wearily, "tell me: can you walk, or shall i drag you by the tail away from your sorry fate?"