Morningside Cuesta enter, pursued by a memory

Well, fuck him anyway.

It hadn't been difficult for Persia to follow his mother's trail. The art had been keep close enough he didn't lose it while simultaneously hanging back enough that she didn't realize she was being followed. He'd been confident in his ability to do all three at once — but Rosewood had not.

I don't need him. I can take care of myself.

In fact, it was Rosie who would be balking when he realized he didn't have his favorite pal around anymore. When he finally realized it was time to move on. When it hit him that all the leggy naiads they'd met there were their blood relatives. If he'd put just a little more stock in Rosie's bravery, he'd expect his brother to catch up on a few days, claiming he had only changed his mind because he didn't think Persia would make it on his own — and that was bullshit.

But, if he was honest with himself, Persia still couldn't help glancing over his shoulder for the dumbass.

He grit his teeth and stalked forward once more, careless of the scenic landscape around him. He found a rock and kicked it with vengeance — and then snarled an invective when it was more painful than satisfying.

"WHYYYYYY," he accused the winter sky. "WHAT DID I EVER DO TO YOU, ASSHOLE??"

He didn't know who he was talking to, but he'd seen mad old Uncle Feather shout at the sky on occasion — and it'd looked just as liberating as it felt now.