The rhythmic drumming of feet against the soaked forest floor remained the only sound to hear, aside from their owner's labored breathing and the melody of rain dropping onto the vast canopy of trees. Summer had turned into Fall ever so swiftly that year, barely even leaving a trace of the past heat waves behind but coloring the landscape golden instead, the greenish tint of Spring disappearing more and more each day. Even Lara had noticed the sudden drop in temperature and bundled up for her daily run, no matter how much she usually enjoyed the prickling of ice-cold air on her much too pale skin.

12 months. A year had passed since Werner had died; and little more than eleven months since her imprisonment in Czechoslowakia. Despite a certain lack of motive and opportunity, the Czech procruatorial had refused to set her free––––and the prison guards had seen that as a silent approval of whatever torture techniques they deemed necessary to trick her into confessing a crime she had never committed. Yet although they had been little more than brainless brutes, they had been smart enough to keep shackles around her wrists and ankles at all times, no matter how much she had flirted and smiled and tried to get them to take them off.

Even now, her wrists still hurt; bearing the scars the chains had left. A number of horizontal lines crossing her skin in various places, colored in a sickening purple tint and itching as though they had barely begun healing yet. Not that it had been anything more than an annoyance in comparison to the flash of pain shooting up her right ankle with every step forward, but it was still one of the worse injuries she had acquired in Prague. And while a broken nose might have been more than a simple grievance for most, Lara had survived much worse already––––and had managed to get back on her feet multiple times when no one had believed she could.

Least of all her parents. Though they had acted as if they had truly mourned their only daughter when she had disappeared in Egypt–––if the gaudy statue had meant anything–––they had been the least happy upon her return. Not that she had talked to them at all back then.

At the time, Lara had been ripped of anything she had once held dear, anything she had been proud of. Her right ankle and foot, which had been stuck under a rock the size of a baby elephant before Putai had rescued her, had kept her awake for days at a time; and once she had managed to dull that pain with a handful of painkillers, her memories had taken over. Looking back, it was little more than a miracle that she had fought her way back to where she was now after how miserably she had treated her body during that time–––though she still assumed that the locket the shaman had given her had given her somewhat of an unfair advantage. But since Lara still couldn't remove it, there was nothing she could have done to subdue its powers.

Inhale. Exhale.

She clenched her teeth and pushed herself to run faster, ignoring the dull pain in her legs as she stabilized her breathing. Whatever had happened in Egypt and Prague didn't matter now. Even Cappadocia had long since faded into just another memory, just another adventure––––as had Kurtis. He had kept on messaging her after she had returned to England, questioning her about that one kiss they had shared, about her well-being, about the weather. Anything to get a response out of her, she presumed.

What could she have told him, anyhow? The kiss had been little more than their shared jubilance after defeating Karel, paired with a slight light-headedness on her part since she had barely eaten that day. She was doing well, for someone whose entire body had been wrecked once and kept demanding her to rest more than she would like to. And the weather was a mixture of clouds and rain, just like it usually was.

A pang of guilt rang through her at the thought. Perhaps she should have responded; if only to have someone to talk to now and again, when life decided to test her. Heaven knew Winston wasn't talkative, nor did she want to bother him with things he couldn't do anything about. And Zip? She often suffered from major headaches for hours after he opened his mouth. And who said Kurtis wasn't in need of help, either? He had shared his powers with her when she had fought against Karel, even though it had almost killed him. Why couldn't she give him something in return––––why couldn't she ever show gratitude?

It had been easy with Putai. The old shaman had been glad just seeing her train once her injuries had healed enough. She had never minded her missteps and the messiness with which she had gobbled down her first proper meal after her accident, nor the many times she had retched during practice. If anything, she had offered Lara a hint of a smile and waited for her to regain her bearings.

Kurtis, however…

He was a storm, just like her–––a wild spirit, though he had kept his heart and his compassion when she had preferred to build a stone wall around her soul. He burned hot, like fire, and she was the very ice that enveloped both sides of the earth like a harsh blanket. They would have killed each other sooner or later, she knew it.

Then why did she feel so numb?

Slowing her pace once more, Lara came to a halt. The rain had stopped, though she wouldn't have noticed if the pearls dripping down her arms had been sweat or water. Or cared.

The forest was as still and quiet as she always found it to be, and even as she closed her eyes, she could feel herself relaxing. Perhaps all she needed was another adventure; something new, something that allowed her to forget the last two years ever happened.

Inhale. Exhale.

Regarding her throbbing foot with a soft grimace, Lara leaned down to tighten the support brace a tad more. The pain would dull soon enough, that she was sure of; and while she certainly would have preferred to be capable of running for a longer time without having to take multiple breaks in between, there was nothing she could do to speed up the healing process even more than Putai already had. At least she could climb and fight just fine, if Cappadocia had been any proof of that.

Cappadocia. Her feet resumed running on their own accord at the memory of Kurtis's daring grin turning into a malicious smirk, his features distorting, melting, re-shaping… reminding her how gullible she had been. Karel had managed to trick her for as long as he had needed her; and she would be lying if she said it hadn't bothered her.

Mistakes like those were one of the reasons why she usually worked alone.

Inhale. Exhale.

Mistakes like those proved she was still human after all. Stone-hearted, broken; undeniably human.