Lament for Shalia

JP with Bandorchu and Lorem:

Alexis nodded, and rose to her feet.
She pointed to some packages near the bedroll Gonyaul was occupying.

“There are some rations in there.”

They were meant for her journey across the desert, but… Gonyaul was more important.

“I’ll go fetch some water.”
She took up the empty waterskins and climbed the stairs, remembering to carefully check for possible pursuers.

Gonyaul had to take Voah’s word on her condition, because he was presently unable to sit up and double check. He closed his eyes again , worried that the room might start spinning, and nodded ever so slightly.

Gonyaul could not fathom how the three of them dealt with these types of situations regularly and carried the trauma and abuse that went with it. How did their bodies function with such pain? How did their hearts not break beyond repair? He felt like he was drowning trying to process and empathize it all.

His thoughts took him back to the moments of the fight and with the ice witch. He felt sad for having to inflict harm; however, was glad it wouldn’t be permanent nor lethal. The woman with the alabaster skin was another matter. All he had wanted was to sit down with her at the temple and talk; try to come to a mutual understanding after apologizing for Voah’s actions. Their first meeting, instead of a peaceful moment of reconciliation, was a disaster.

Her reaction finally solidified in his thoughts; at the time it was all a blur. He remembered her horrific panic and how she looked at him like he was a monster. He realized he had done something that terribly wounded her. He was a monster, a little voice whispered in his ears, and now he looked like one on the outside too.

Tears began to build behind the dams of his closed eyes. Then they burst and began trailing down his face mixing with the perspiration caused by the fever. His lips curled into a silent sob as the floodgates of grief released. He was so sorry, but little good that would do anyone now.

His nose began to drip from the crying that just wouldn’t stop. He knew he must look like a little baby. Everyone else was being heroic and rising above adversity and here he was immobile, useless, burdensome and sobbing.

The emotional back and forth between depression, anger and his usual temperament was exhausting him. He was too tired to meditate and too worked up to sleep. What was wrong with him?