Respite

There was nothing worse than the sound of the insects in the forest. Their soft cries and chirping were a comfort, normality, but there was nothing more sinister than the sound of them falling silent. It happened at once, as if a knife had been plunged into the fabric of reality, tearing out a great chunk of sound from the world and leaving a gaping hole in its place. Sometimes, a chunk of your heart went with it.

Leonardo did not like the emptiness. It was one thing to love the silence and gentle understandings of the night, and another to love the deafening blanket thrown over his head. That was something he had learnt to loathe as it crushed him whole.

When the insects grew still, you froze. You watched through the trees, heart in your throat, eyes full of flint, sword gripped between your fingertips. The weight felt heavy in your hand, leaden on your shoulders, and you knew it would be hard not to falter.

Then the insects would start up again, and for a moment, you'd relax, before the insects behind you fell quiet. If you were lucky, you'd catch the flickering of shadows before a knife was held at your throat. Sometimes you escaped unscathed, other times; the bloodied marks on your skin took far too long to heal. Hard to fight infection, hard to stay alive on your own.

So you didn't take the chance of getting hurt. You fought hard, you fought with unyielding resolve. Sometimes, the lines started to blur, and you no longer knew what you were fighting.

When the shadows turned into beasts and the beasts turned into men, and the men turned into shadows and you found your sword cutting through thin air, your brow slicked with sweat, your heart racing, and you realize that if you do not hear from your family soon, you'll go insane. Or perhaps you are already insane and you're putting them all in danger.

Maybe if you stop writing, just for a while, just for a little while, you can piece yourself together and no one will think you a failure. Maybe you can keep them safe. Maybe you can come back the leader they need, the leader you have failed in being. That's why you're here.

So you stop writing, but only for a little while. And the days turn into weeks and weeks into months and finally you're so ashamed that you cannot even think about it any longer. But you do think about it, and the guilt, yearning and unknown push you further down a dark path, across a line no man should think about walking.

And in the forest, in the jungle, you start to forget who you are, and moments of respite are hard to find. Peace to soothe a tormented soul is hard to come by. So you wait, you train, and you hope. But you're not sure that you can remember what hope tastes like.

Leo perched on a branch, feeling the grit of the forest beneath his fingertips. It dug into his skin and clung to his cheeks, worming its way into his being, trying to become a part of him, and sometimes, Leonardo wondered if it had already succeeded. Around him, the valley stretched, a vast cradle in which the trees of the forest slept. The wind threaded its way through the trees, wrapping around Leonardo, whipping his bandanna tails, his poncho long discarded beside him.

He lifted a hand, as if to catch the wind, and felt it fly through his fingertips. A smile graced his lips and he tilted his head back, taking in a deep breath. The mountains, blue giants in the distance, seemed to shimmer with the waning light. Darkness descended, and the chirping of insects began, the forest alive with the sounds of the wind playing with the leaves.

He settled back, leaning against the trunk. It scraped against his shell and he let out a breath, his head falling back with a soft thud. Shadows flickered around him, and the forest floor stretched out beneath him at a great distance. Leonardo could still remember the boy terrified of even the most simple of heights, the boy who would freeze up in fear and lose all grace and skill to the realization of the distance below him.

Now, the height brought him comfort. The feeling of the wind around him left him settling back, a soft sigh leaving his throat. On his lap, his swords rested, secured and safe. Never drop your guard, Leonardo, never.

In a strange land, with strange people and strange ways, it was unwise to let down your guard.

But for now, while the crickets were chirping, he'd allow himself a moment of peace. And for a moment, there was respite, and there was clarity. For a moment, the darkness of his mind that threatened to choke his sanity, didn't seem so bad.

But only for a moment.

AN: More of a short musing and character study than a story with much plot. Trying to get back into writing after a very busy period. Thank you to everyone who has been reading, favouriting, and reviewing my work. It means a lot to me.