Disclaimer: All things FFX belong to Square and never, at any time, have I attempted to identify boiled chicken parts.
-----------------------------------
This story is rated PG-13 for a bloody-good reason and contains:
Spoilers? Without delay. Swearing? You betcha. Adult situations? Uh huh. Angst? Yup, that too.
All simmered together in a sassy Auron-sama-red-sauce with a dash of levity and served over a bed of mush... fweeee!!
-----------------------------------
Eterna: Chapter 1 -- A Hero's Welcome
There were numerous ways he had envisioned himself greeting the infinite, but a violent bout of dry-heaves had definitely not been one of them.
A cold-sweat broke out along his brow and upper lip as his gloved hand blindly reached for the familiar comfort of his katana. The weapon that had ushered countless enemies from the land of the living was now used as a crutch to assist the nauseated warrior to his feet.
"Hmph."
He was almost certain that he should have arrived here in a state of overwhelming euphoria, his friends waiting with open arms. Instead, he had emerged on the far side of the veil retching and alone. Perhaps it was the Farplane's way of letting him know he was late -- over a decade late, as a matter of fact. Despite that, he really should find the manager and demand a refund.
Shifting the pommel of his sword to rest under his left forearm, he disengaged his jug from his hip. He absently observed that his hand was shaking as he brought the clay container to his lips, intending to rid his palate of the foul residue that coated it. But no sooner had the rice-wine begun to wash across his tongue than he was turning his head to eject it in a wet spray. The taste had gone flat and wooden; the liquid had lost all resemblance to its original form.
Wonderful. Now his mouth felt like the inside of a gym-locker.
"Stop whining and move."
Delivering a eulogy to his departed beverage of choice by way of a short sigh, the large loop of beads rattled softly as he re-attached the rough pottery to his side. With a practiced flourish, he flipped his blade to his shoulder and turned his back to the mound of rock where he had materialized to take in the scenery.
What met his gaze stunned him beyond comprehension. An involuntary intake of breath hissed through his teeth as his left hand shot to the bridge of his nose to yank his glasses off, his eye squinted in effort. He was convinced that his impaired vision was playing tricks on him.
A monochrome, lifeless expanse stretched out in all directions as far as his shocked inspection could reach. The environment was completely devoid of vegetation. Its drab surface appeared gray and calcified -- shallow craters scattered across its dry skin like an angry rash. The occasional up thrust of jagged rocks were the only vertical features on its arid, crusty face. Even the sky was dim and colorless: no clouds, no sun, nothing to interrupt the atmosphere, not even wind disturbed the perfect stillness that surrounded him.
Raising his chin slightly, Auron sniffed at the air, hoping to catch a scent of something... anything... pleasant or otherwise, but nothing met his keen sense. This place was utterly desolate and he began to formulate a disturbing hypothesis: that the final defeat of Sin and the destruction of Yu Yevon, had somehow caused a catastrophic change in the Farplane -- a parting shot from the false deity.
If the theory held true, then he must entertain the possibility that he would be spending eternity in isolation -- this barren world presenting no evidence to the contrary. The beginnings of an anxious knot began to twist in the pit of his stomach with these thoughts. He fought the sudden urge to call out, the names of his friends balanced on the edge of a desperate verbalization. His throat constricted, he choked back the comforting monikers and fought the emotions that threatened his control.
What did he care for company? He only had need of peace and quiet -- the solitude offered here was fine with him.
"Just fine," he growled, jamming his glasses back to his face with one hand, the other twitching the blade that spanned his shoulder as he strode forward into the empty landscape.
-----------------------------------
Keeping his mind safely occupied with the mundane details around him, the warrior monk had marched forward for quite some time. He proceeded in what he hoped was a reasonably straight line, the small crags of rock formations used as a reference. When he noted the terrain had begun to change up ahead, Auron stopped to take stock of his surroundings and decide upon a course change if needed.
The low crags become denser up ahead, the craters replaced by erosion faults in the hard crust running away into the distance. Directly in front of him was an ancient streambed; its parched surface had not seen whatever liquid had created it for what looked like centuries.
"Where to now, I wonder?"
"Are you aware that you're talking to yourself?"
"Yes... quite aware, old monk."
Chuckling, Auron set out along the makeshift path -- the sound of his boots crunching against the loose topsoil of the eroded gully, a fitting accompaniment to his dry amusement.
-----------------------------------
A mountain had begun to grow on the horizon and Auron quickened his pace to meet it, mildly encouraged by the sight of the imposing peak that rose up sharply from the flat of the basin. He was now presented with two choices: either to follow the base in one direction or another, or to go up.
"Up," Auron said tonelessly, eyeing the unstable looking rock-bed that covered the base of the mountain, its broad expanse like the shoulder of a sleeping gray giant. The angle of repose was risky, but he was fairly sure he could muscle his way up the vast scree field, despite its steep grade. Only one way to find out, he thought as he began to traverse the precipitous incline while moving in short, compressed bursts of energy. His powerful legs maintained a steady ascent, his weight braced by his free hand when needed.
He had made a satisfying amount of progress when a large slab of talus suddenly gave way beneath him. The avalanche of small rocks acted like rough ball bearings under his boots. Auron valiantly fought to keep his feet, but lost the battle as he went down on his right side. The flat of his katana pinned beneath him acted like a steel ski, sending him skittering down the mountainside with increasing velocity and friction sparks spraying out in his wake.
Releasing his grip on his sword, Auron rolled face-first against the surging rock and thrust his hands into the sharp sea in an attempt to slow his rapid descent. The rock swell ignored the effort, and he continued to pick up speed. Auron flipped onto his back as he helplessly rode the wave of stone to the bottom, tucking into a roll when he reached the flat. His body finally jolted to a stop amid a thick cloud of dust.
Auron remained sprawled on his back for several minutes while his over-taxed lungs pushed the dusty surface of his chest plate rapidly up and down in a ragged rhythm. When his breathing became more regular, he propped himself up on his elbows. Then, he shifted uncomfortably as the debris field his fall had brought down the mountainside painfully dug into the parts of his body pressing against it. He didn't need to look at himself to know he was a mess; he felt the multitude of cuts and scrapes clearly enough as to not require visual confirmation. But he didn't think he had broken any bones and that was something.
Rising to a sitting position, Auron winced, then brought his left hand up to inspect its ruined palm, the flesh lacerated to the bone by the ragged shards of rock. Intending to release a choice epithet or two, Auron instead sneezed. His head snapped forward, shooting his glasses into his lap, and he paused for a moment to contemplate the irony of it. The shades had somehow managed to stay in place while he body-surfed a wave of rock down a mountainside only to be catapulted from his face by a mere sternutation.
"Just another wondrous mystery, here in paradise," Auron said, returning his attention to his hand, which was still poised in the air in front of him. His eye widening, Auron watched the deep wound heal itself, the bloody fissure closing like a seductive wink against his skin, then fading to a deep pink. Extending the limb, he then observed the cross-hatching of shallower cuts that ran the length of his arm similarly fade and then disappear. Fascinated, Auron ran his fingers along his forehead and felt the rapidly healing cuts there tickling the nerve endings of his fingertips as the skin sealed, until only the deep scar above his eye remained.
"Handy," Auron remarked, thinking that if the need for healing magic and potions were no longer necessary, half of Spira would be out of business. Then he smirked, realizing that was already the case for the most part, now that Sin was gone. He was tempted to dwell upon this line of thought but promptly cut it off; reflecting on the past was counter-productive -- he had a mountain to conquer.
Stowing his scuffed-up glasses inside his robe, Auron rose stiffly to his feet. Refusing to dust himself off, he glared at the crumbling massif like he would any enemy or obstacle that foolishly chose to impede him. He welcomed the challenge the massive facade was offering. It would keep his thoughts from wandering to subjects best left unscrutinized. His eye narrowing, Auron moved to retrieve his sword, which had come to rest a short distance off to his left, then willfully exiled the remaining pain in his hand from his awareness as he proceeded to attack the mountain.
Striding to the base and settling into a wide stance, he was unable to stop himself from thinking about what a poor use of the weapon this was. What he was about to do would wreak havoc with its edge, but he raised the great blade in a dual-handed grasp anyway, then with a low grunt of effort drove the curved tip into the flank of the escarpment. The steel held fast as he pulled his body up to meet it and he thought, so far, so good. Pivoting the toes of his boots rapidly from side to side, he dug in to the precarious scree of the incline; the action sending spalls of rock flowing down behind him in a gray river.
Now came the difficulty: how to remove his sword and bury it above once more, before his footing was lost. Haste should do nicely. Summoning the incantation into his mind, Auron waited for the crimson glow that would tell him the spell was ready to cast, but it did not appear. Frowning, he closed his eye, focusing harder -- still nothing.
"Marvelous," Auron said, as he threw his weight forward and extracted his sword from the mountainside, its metal singing against the rubble for a brief moment, then plunged it back into the ground above him. His feet once again threatened to go out from under him as they scrambled for purchase, but his superior upper-body strength managed to stay his fall and his arms bulged as they hauled his weight to the flat of his blade.
"Hn," Auron grunted, acknowledging the small triumph. Then he steadied himself to move again, and then again, relentlessly battling his way up the face of the deadly bluff.
-----------------------------------
He had slipped several times and the sharp rocks had gouged deep troughs of skin from his bared hand and arm. He was grateful that he could essentially ignore his injuries, as the torn flesh healed rapidly while he continued his struggle. A relatively firm section of rock had presented itself and he had taken the opportunity to rest for a moment, his body carefully positioned to maximize the downward pressure on his boots. Rotating his head to one side and lifting his chin, Auron spat, attempting to expectorate the debris from his throat and lungs. His collar had helped, but the inhalation of particles was unavoidable and had begun to feel like broken glass in his chest. He contemplated reaching for his jug of dead-sake, then decided he preferred the taste of this mountain over the contents of the inanimate companion dangling from his hip. An ironic smile curved at the edges of his mouth as he realized that this was the first time the jug would fail to bring him comfort. Its presence had seen him through many hardships, both physical and emotional, and in many ways it was the closest friend he had.
"Pitiful," he uttered in a gravely rasp, carefully tilting his head back to check the terrain. He saw that the loose scrabble gave way to solid rock just a few yards above him, and allowed himself a sigh of relief. He immediately regretted it, as the exhale turned into an excruciating fit of coughing. When the agonizing spasms had subsided, he turned his attention back to the cliff face, redistributed his balance, sheathed his sword behind him, then quickly adjusted again to compensate for the sudden shift of weight at his back. If he fell now, it was a long trip to the bottom and he had no desire to be forced to start over. Not to mention the discomfort involved.
Scanning the headwall above him, he took some time to decide upon the best route. He studied the indentation patterns and decided on one that appeared to have the best placement of holds and edges. Unfortunately, it would require him to jump for the first hold and if he missed it... Legendary Guardian Gumbo.
Chuckling, Auron gathered himself and pushed off the bedrock, launching his body toward the pocket in the cliff. His gloved hand shot out to grasp the precious hold, and for a split-second the leather slipped on the smooth surface before his strong fingers locked onto the stone. His body swung out like an opening door for a moment before the additional weight of his right side brought him back to the face, his jug digging in to his hip as he panged off the side. He hung there for a few moments until his momentum stilled, then cranked himself upward. His left hand reached out to a side hold while his boot simultaneously sought the edge below it; his right boot followed suit, lodging itself against a larger edge below and to his right. His body now safely stable, Auron continued up the rock face; resembling a large, red arachnid, he moved with graceful power through the ascent route.
-----------------------------------
He had no idea how long he had been climbing and he surmised it made little difference in this place. He could spend eons struggling up the face of this damned monolith, and it would be nothing more than a drop-in-the-bucket to the Farplane. The adage made him think of water and he unconsciously ran his tongue over his cracked lips at the thought. This was irritating to say the least. How was it that his body could feel thirst or pain? He had assumed the laws of the corporeal would no longer bind him here. Perhaps it was strictly a mental lapse. His mind might not have caught up with reality. He had spent nearly a third of his existence as an Unsent; logic suggested he would be a natural for this stage of the game. Apparently, his weaknesses had graciously agreed to follow him here while his useful attributes, such as magic, had conveniently decided to take-a-powder.
"This is going to be some journey," he said to the rocks looming inches from his face, then realized that he had used those very words once before. When was it?
"Never mind, you addlebrained fool... just get going."
-----------------------------------
Auron's mind and body had gone into a trance-like detachment some time ago. His only thoughts were for the next handhold, the next boot-ledge, and the proper angle of ascent. So it was that the smell took him completely unaware, jolting him from his concentration and forcing him to clench his frame for a moment as the sudden lapse nearly caused him to lose his balance. The ragged fingers of his bared hand went white as he gripped the edge of the shallow hold above him. Rapid pumping of blood to his arm created a web of distended veins along the surface of the skin as he fought to regain his center of gravity. Blinking away the stinging sweat that had run into his eye, he slowly bent his head back to look above him.
He had reached the summit.
The top of the mountain rolled outward in a thick ridge, like the crest of a wave breaking over the side. Clinging tenaciously to its edge was a carpet of new grass; the fragile blades were bent towards him as if in greeting, nodding as an unseen breeze that carried the rich scent of the fresh sod to his dusty nose swept across the plateau above.
Auron was quite certain he had never seen or smelled anything so beautiful and fragrant...
Life.
And simple though it was, it held the hope of more complex forms up to his forsaken spirit, shining with the possibility that he may not be alone after all.
-----------------------------------
This story is rated PG-13 for a bloody-good reason and contains:
Spoilers? Without delay. Swearing? You betcha. Adult situations? Uh huh. Angst? Yup, that too.
All simmered together in a sassy Auron-sama-red-sauce with a dash of levity and served over a bed of mush... fweeee!!
-----------------------------------
Eterna: Chapter 1 -- A Hero's Welcome
There were numerous ways he had envisioned himself greeting the infinite, but a violent bout of dry-heaves had definitely not been one of them.
A cold-sweat broke out along his brow and upper lip as his gloved hand blindly reached for the familiar comfort of his katana. The weapon that had ushered countless enemies from the land of the living was now used as a crutch to assist the nauseated warrior to his feet.
"Hmph."
He was almost certain that he should have arrived here in a state of overwhelming euphoria, his friends waiting with open arms. Instead, he had emerged on the far side of the veil retching and alone. Perhaps it was the Farplane's way of letting him know he was late -- over a decade late, as a matter of fact. Despite that, he really should find the manager and demand a refund.
Shifting the pommel of his sword to rest under his left forearm, he disengaged his jug from his hip. He absently observed that his hand was shaking as he brought the clay container to his lips, intending to rid his palate of the foul residue that coated it. But no sooner had the rice-wine begun to wash across his tongue than he was turning his head to eject it in a wet spray. The taste had gone flat and wooden; the liquid had lost all resemblance to its original form.
Wonderful. Now his mouth felt like the inside of a gym-locker.
"Stop whining and move."
Delivering a eulogy to his departed beverage of choice by way of a short sigh, the large loop of beads rattled softly as he re-attached the rough pottery to his side. With a practiced flourish, he flipped his blade to his shoulder and turned his back to the mound of rock where he had materialized to take in the scenery.
What met his gaze stunned him beyond comprehension. An involuntary intake of breath hissed through his teeth as his left hand shot to the bridge of his nose to yank his glasses off, his eye squinted in effort. He was convinced that his impaired vision was playing tricks on him.
A monochrome, lifeless expanse stretched out in all directions as far as his shocked inspection could reach. The environment was completely devoid of vegetation. Its drab surface appeared gray and calcified -- shallow craters scattered across its dry skin like an angry rash. The occasional up thrust of jagged rocks were the only vertical features on its arid, crusty face. Even the sky was dim and colorless: no clouds, no sun, nothing to interrupt the atmosphere, not even wind disturbed the perfect stillness that surrounded him.
Raising his chin slightly, Auron sniffed at the air, hoping to catch a scent of something... anything... pleasant or otherwise, but nothing met his keen sense. This place was utterly desolate and he began to formulate a disturbing hypothesis: that the final defeat of Sin and the destruction of Yu Yevon, had somehow caused a catastrophic change in the Farplane -- a parting shot from the false deity.
If the theory held true, then he must entertain the possibility that he would be spending eternity in isolation -- this barren world presenting no evidence to the contrary. The beginnings of an anxious knot began to twist in the pit of his stomach with these thoughts. He fought the sudden urge to call out, the names of his friends balanced on the edge of a desperate verbalization. His throat constricted, he choked back the comforting monikers and fought the emotions that threatened his control.
What did he care for company? He only had need of peace and quiet -- the solitude offered here was fine with him.
"Just fine," he growled, jamming his glasses back to his face with one hand, the other twitching the blade that spanned his shoulder as he strode forward into the empty landscape.
-----------------------------------
Keeping his mind safely occupied with the mundane details around him, the warrior monk had marched forward for quite some time. He proceeded in what he hoped was a reasonably straight line, the small crags of rock formations used as a reference. When he noted the terrain had begun to change up ahead, Auron stopped to take stock of his surroundings and decide upon a course change if needed.
The low crags become denser up ahead, the craters replaced by erosion faults in the hard crust running away into the distance. Directly in front of him was an ancient streambed; its parched surface had not seen whatever liquid had created it for what looked like centuries.
"Where to now, I wonder?"
"Are you aware that you're talking to yourself?"
"Yes... quite aware, old monk."
Chuckling, Auron set out along the makeshift path -- the sound of his boots crunching against the loose topsoil of the eroded gully, a fitting accompaniment to his dry amusement.
-----------------------------------
A mountain had begun to grow on the horizon and Auron quickened his pace to meet it, mildly encouraged by the sight of the imposing peak that rose up sharply from the flat of the basin. He was now presented with two choices: either to follow the base in one direction or another, or to go up.
"Up," Auron said tonelessly, eyeing the unstable looking rock-bed that covered the base of the mountain, its broad expanse like the shoulder of a sleeping gray giant. The angle of repose was risky, but he was fairly sure he could muscle his way up the vast scree field, despite its steep grade. Only one way to find out, he thought as he began to traverse the precipitous incline while moving in short, compressed bursts of energy. His powerful legs maintained a steady ascent, his weight braced by his free hand when needed.
He had made a satisfying amount of progress when a large slab of talus suddenly gave way beneath him. The avalanche of small rocks acted like rough ball bearings under his boots. Auron valiantly fought to keep his feet, but lost the battle as he went down on his right side. The flat of his katana pinned beneath him acted like a steel ski, sending him skittering down the mountainside with increasing velocity and friction sparks spraying out in his wake.
Releasing his grip on his sword, Auron rolled face-first against the surging rock and thrust his hands into the sharp sea in an attempt to slow his rapid descent. The rock swell ignored the effort, and he continued to pick up speed. Auron flipped onto his back as he helplessly rode the wave of stone to the bottom, tucking into a roll when he reached the flat. His body finally jolted to a stop amid a thick cloud of dust.
Auron remained sprawled on his back for several minutes while his over-taxed lungs pushed the dusty surface of his chest plate rapidly up and down in a ragged rhythm. When his breathing became more regular, he propped himself up on his elbows. Then, he shifted uncomfortably as the debris field his fall had brought down the mountainside painfully dug into the parts of his body pressing against it. He didn't need to look at himself to know he was a mess; he felt the multitude of cuts and scrapes clearly enough as to not require visual confirmation. But he didn't think he had broken any bones and that was something.
Rising to a sitting position, Auron winced, then brought his left hand up to inspect its ruined palm, the flesh lacerated to the bone by the ragged shards of rock. Intending to release a choice epithet or two, Auron instead sneezed. His head snapped forward, shooting his glasses into his lap, and he paused for a moment to contemplate the irony of it. The shades had somehow managed to stay in place while he body-surfed a wave of rock down a mountainside only to be catapulted from his face by a mere sternutation.
"Just another wondrous mystery, here in paradise," Auron said, returning his attention to his hand, which was still poised in the air in front of him. His eye widening, Auron watched the deep wound heal itself, the bloody fissure closing like a seductive wink against his skin, then fading to a deep pink. Extending the limb, he then observed the cross-hatching of shallower cuts that ran the length of his arm similarly fade and then disappear. Fascinated, Auron ran his fingers along his forehead and felt the rapidly healing cuts there tickling the nerve endings of his fingertips as the skin sealed, until only the deep scar above his eye remained.
"Handy," Auron remarked, thinking that if the need for healing magic and potions were no longer necessary, half of Spira would be out of business. Then he smirked, realizing that was already the case for the most part, now that Sin was gone. He was tempted to dwell upon this line of thought but promptly cut it off; reflecting on the past was counter-productive -- he had a mountain to conquer.
Stowing his scuffed-up glasses inside his robe, Auron rose stiffly to his feet. Refusing to dust himself off, he glared at the crumbling massif like he would any enemy or obstacle that foolishly chose to impede him. He welcomed the challenge the massive facade was offering. It would keep his thoughts from wandering to subjects best left unscrutinized. His eye narrowing, Auron moved to retrieve his sword, which had come to rest a short distance off to his left, then willfully exiled the remaining pain in his hand from his awareness as he proceeded to attack the mountain.
Striding to the base and settling into a wide stance, he was unable to stop himself from thinking about what a poor use of the weapon this was. What he was about to do would wreak havoc with its edge, but he raised the great blade in a dual-handed grasp anyway, then with a low grunt of effort drove the curved tip into the flank of the escarpment. The steel held fast as he pulled his body up to meet it and he thought, so far, so good. Pivoting the toes of his boots rapidly from side to side, he dug in to the precarious scree of the incline; the action sending spalls of rock flowing down behind him in a gray river.
Now came the difficulty: how to remove his sword and bury it above once more, before his footing was lost. Haste should do nicely. Summoning the incantation into his mind, Auron waited for the crimson glow that would tell him the spell was ready to cast, but it did not appear. Frowning, he closed his eye, focusing harder -- still nothing.
"Marvelous," Auron said, as he threw his weight forward and extracted his sword from the mountainside, its metal singing against the rubble for a brief moment, then plunged it back into the ground above him. His feet once again threatened to go out from under him as they scrambled for purchase, but his superior upper-body strength managed to stay his fall and his arms bulged as they hauled his weight to the flat of his blade.
"Hn," Auron grunted, acknowledging the small triumph. Then he steadied himself to move again, and then again, relentlessly battling his way up the face of the deadly bluff.
-----------------------------------
He had slipped several times and the sharp rocks had gouged deep troughs of skin from his bared hand and arm. He was grateful that he could essentially ignore his injuries, as the torn flesh healed rapidly while he continued his struggle. A relatively firm section of rock had presented itself and he had taken the opportunity to rest for a moment, his body carefully positioned to maximize the downward pressure on his boots. Rotating his head to one side and lifting his chin, Auron spat, attempting to expectorate the debris from his throat and lungs. His collar had helped, but the inhalation of particles was unavoidable and had begun to feel like broken glass in his chest. He contemplated reaching for his jug of dead-sake, then decided he preferred the taste of this mountain over the contents of the inanimate companion dangling from his hip. An ironic smile curved at the edges of his mouth as he realized that this was the first time the jug would fail to bring him comfort. Its presence had seen him through many hardships, both physical and emotional, and in many ways it was the closest friend he had.
"Pitiful," he uttered in a gravely rasp, carefully tilting his head back to check the terrain. He saw that the loose scrabble gave way to solid rock just a few yards above him, and allowed himself a sigh of relief. He immediately regretted it, as the exhale turned into an excruciating fit of coughing. When the agonizing spasms had subsided, he turned his attention back to the cliff face, redistributed his balance, sheathed his sword behind him, then quickly adjusted again to compensate for the sudden shift of weight at his back. If he fell now, it was a long trip to the bottom and he had no desire to be forced to start over. Not to mention the discomfort involved.
Scanning the headwall above him, he took some time to decide upon the best route. He studied the indentation patterns and decided on one that appeared to have the best placement of holds and edges. Unfortunately, it would require him to jump for the first hold and if he missed it... Legendary Guardian Gumbo.
Chuckling, Auron gathered himself and pushed off the bedrock, launching his body toward the pocket in the cliff. His gloved hand shot out to grasp the precious hold, and for a split-second the leather slipped on the smooth surface before his strong fingers locked onto the stone. His body swung out like an opening door for a moment before the additional weight of his right side brought him back to the face, his jug digging in to his hip as he panged off the side. He hung there for a few moments until his momentum stilled, then cranked himself upward. His left hand reached out to a side hold while his boot simultaneously sought the edge below it; his right boot followed suit, lodging itself against a larger edge below and to his right. His body now safely stable, Auron continued up the rock face; resembling a large, red arachnid, he moved with graceful power through the ascent route.
-----------------------------------
He had no idea how long he had been climbing and he surmised it made little difference in this place. He could spend eons struggling up the face of this damned monolith, and it would be nothing more than a drop-in-the-bucket to the Farplane. The adage made him think of water and he unconsciously ran his tongue over his cracked lips at the thought. This was irritating to say the least. How was it that his body could feel thirst or pain? He had assumed the laws of the corporeal would no longer bind him here. Perhaps it was strictly a mental lapse. His mind might not have caught up with reality. He had spent nearly a third of his existence as an Unsent; logic suggested he would be a natural for this stage of the game. Apparently, his weaknesses had graciously agreed to follow him here while his useful attributes, such as magic, had conveniently decided to take-a-powder.
"This is going to be some journey," he said to the rocks looming inches from his face, then realized that he had used those very words once before. When was it?
"Never mind, you addlebrained fool... just get going."
-----------------------------------
Auron's mind and body had gone into a trance-like detachment some time ago. His only thoughts were for the next handhold, the next boot-ledge, and the proper angle of ascent. So it was that the smell took him completely unaware, jolting him from his concentration and forcing him to clench his frame for a moment as the sudden lapse nearly caused him to lose his balance. The ragged fingers of his bared hand went white as he gripped the edge of the shallow hold above him. Rapid pumping of blood to his arm created a web of distended veins along the surface of the skin as he fought to regain his center of gravity. Blinking away the stinging sweat that had run into his eye, he slowly bent his head back to look above him.
He had reached the summit.
The top of the mountain rolled outward in a thick ridge, like the crest of a wave breaking over the side. Clinging tenaciously to its edge was a carpet of new grass; the fragile blades were bent towards him as if in greeting, nodding as an unseen breeze that carried the rich scent of the fresh sod to his dusty nose swept across the plateau above.
Auron was quite certain he had never seen or smelled anything so beautiful and fragrant...
Life.
And simple though it was, it held the hope of more complex forms up to his forsaken spirit, shining with the possibility that he may not be alone after all.
