Luneshale Pass Fingers Tearing Through the Ground

Tailing along like rain was pouring down on her slinking back. The distance between them grew so wide. Legend was insistent on getting closer, being closer, until a shivering lip met the back of his neck. Wide, soft eyes that turned to stone when Machiavelli shot around. An outstretched paw that extended to keep her back? The rat tried to swivel beyond it.

Nagging, swearing that Machiavelli was pulling punches and waiting to turn, and oh, she would get him to throw them. She would get him to throw them, she would. She would! He thought he could outsmart her? He thought she was stupid?

Still, no matter how hard she tried, there was space between them. So, she stopped trying. Head tilting, trying to go below the mans own to look up into those eyes of painted glass. Emotional one moment, and then the next? 

When did you stop trusting me?

A cold, neutral blink.

Did you ever actually care, Legend?

Like the gears just wouldn't keep moving and they were raking against her skull.

Or was I just a fleeting entertainment? A means to an end?

Turning, turning. Trying, failing. Or was that just another game of hers?
Legend didn't know.

Legend didn't know at all, and so, and so-

"I don't know."