to cut away the mountains i've made

Moath · (This post was last modified: January 27, 2019, 11:39 AM by Moath.)

oh no...anything but PHILOSOPHY!!!! PLS IM SORRY I TOOK SO LONG BAE NOOO

There was nowhere left to go, nowhere left to run. Panic crept up my throat as I ran into yet another dead end, and realized he had led me here. Turning around, I found him...

Wandering as he always had been, it was nothing new to Moath. He always wandered, no matter where he was. However, his Mother had told him this was where to be, where he was to remain. Where Family was. The man couldn't decide whether it was okay to be where Family was with the urges he was seemingly made of. But if there was nothing but Family here, then those urges shouldn't come...right?

Moath didn't understand how his own mind worked, but it didn't mean much to him. He didn't often make an effort to understand anything. He simply existed. He lived life as it came to him, following whatever pulls and pushes came to be as they did. On this frigid time of this slow hour, Moath did just that, drifting where the wind seemingly pulled him. But through the gusts, the Killer had been snagged by a thread, caught as the scent bound him and began to tug. So with such incline, the gigantuan followed the pull, his near imperceptible dark amethysts glinting their awareness in the barest of lights.

The Melonii was a bit less haggard today; Mother had cleaned him up as she had the aimless man follow her through a rushing creek. She was small, but she held her own through the harsh waters, and Moath didn't need to bring her to safety. So as he continued his follow of the thread, he began to pull what little information he could from the scent until the maker of the thread loomed just before him in the Weald.

And in silence, he waited.