Haunted Wood You Know my Desire

meseba is content to let machiavelli lead the way — in part because he has never been to akashingo and admittedly does not know the way, and because it leaves plenty of distance between them. not enough distance that the other man wasn't beneath the chain-heavy stare of meseba's singular eye ... but enough that the chord of tension between them did not pull so taunt.

even so, bitterness lingers like a half dissolved pill in his mouth. barbed words stinging where they nip like hellhounds at his heels.

finally, meseba catches up to machiavelli; though largely at his own leisure as the other man stops. meseba prowls to the same water source machiavelli had taken a drink from and takes a long drink from it himself.

meseba offers no words, preferring to wait in stewing silence. either machiavelli would fill the silence or they would fall back to their traveling pattern thus far.