ehehe one more tonight

Disclaimer: not mineee you know the drill [see all chapters before] _insert trollololololol here_


Three Warriors

xxx. delusional .xxx


The weight drops on him like a stone.

It wasn't like the kind of weight and pressure that came with ramming one's shoulder into all the adversities that came into life's path — no, it was more like a pang of dread and apprehension and simply knowing that something had gone wrong.

He nearly falls off his horse, but he lets no one know. They're covering the grassy plains in long, leaping strides, but it takes ages to see the one tree in the distance move an inch.

"Hey," he says, warily. "Did you, well…"

Unheard over the beating of hooves, he sits back in the saddle and contemplates. First, he thanks his horse for its lovely loping stride, a true rocking horse on which he can ponder the endless streams of confusions that truly like to stick themselves to him like burrs. Secondly, he glances over at Bertholdt, who is riding so stiffly that he could be mistaken for a scarecrow strapped to a horse.

He is mistaken; Bertholdt has keen ears.

"I felt it," he says.

Or, rather, Reiner sees his lips move, but hears no sound over the clattering as they canter onto a cobbled path.

A roundabout look at the rest of the crew, and by the furrowed brows and relentless grips on the reins, he knows that he's not the only one.

"It's Ann—"

He is cut off, probably fortunately, because Mike has pulled up his horse and they are loping around a small property fenced in by old rails and barbed wire. It is uncannily similar to the humble farmer's lodging where they'd remained just a day before — so similar that, on closer inspection, Reiner realizes that they've gone in a complete circle.

The sky is dizzying blue, and it's suddenly so scorching hot that pools of sweat coagulate on his thin shirt. Bertholdt is saying his name; no, he's mouthing Reiner, Reiner are you all right? Reiner is not all right, to be honest, because the next thing he knows, there's a heavy thud and someone kills the gas; the lights are gone.


It's as if he hit his head hard, and can't remember a thing.

But the pit in his stomach remains, and by nightfall, he's staring out the window past Bertholdt's shoulder — the poor boy is perched on a creaky chair, staring at the silvery clouds like a heartbroken lover — at the moon.

Unless he's dreaming again, the moon makes a face.

He wants to laugh, and maybe he does, because Bertholdt turns. Reiner begins to guffaw at the face in the moon, because it's not the famed Man in the Moon, nor is it a handsome spirit whose features are prominently featured in the fullness of that evil, white eye. In fact, the moon has a bored look to it, dry and hardly amused, and the hook of its nose and the heavy-lidded eyes are so striking that Reiner can't help himself.

The moon looks like Annie.


/chapter

Can you decide when Reiner's dreaming and when he's not?

CAN YOU TELL?!

[because I sure can't lololol _insert another trolololol here_]