Chapter 3: Silent Advice
The wind swept sharp across the high plateau, a cold northern wind blowing from far beyond the ocean, it chilled the
length of the land, and came to rest on the mountain, as if caught by the vast clouds that hang perpetually in the
sky. The wind never abates, and left little for the plants to feed from, the only growth was lichens and shrubs,
hardly fit to be eaten or even exist, a meager place. It was never questioned why Cid was buried in the remotest
part of Trabia, nor did anyone think twice of it, he was an odd man, but still a great man, and though simple, his
grave somehow fit him. A simple block place over a tomb hewn of the rocks which were the only ground, a simple
message "Only History will provide for this great man an adequate reward", and the simple land in which it was built
.
Squall came here often, not for the beauty of it, nor for the reminder of Cid, but for the quiet, the peace
which was the true embodiement of the land. In a land so untouched no sound but his own feet could rent the pure
silence. The freshest air, the brightest sun, the sheerest cliffs could only ever add to that expansive silence, it
was an omnipotent, humbling experience for Squall, one he found quietly enjoyable.
He crept slowly through the brush, and padded softly across the exposed rock, experiencing the landscape
with all his senses, watching, feeling the world he lived in, and as he came to the edge of the grantie wall on
which he stood, he pondered the frailty of life. He thought of a poor life cut in its prime by a feeling so easy to
beat, but only when you are conscious of feeling it.He mulled over the punishment for a murderer who may not be an
immoral person. Had the same not been so when he had ought Seifer so many times? I have to do my best or I won't
see sis again, what did Sorrow have to prove? Seifer was always looking for attention,was Sorrow like that? He
always helped out, put in extra time, he was strong with a gunblade, the Bear was a fearsome fighter, but a gentle
man, what had really happened? Death, a life for a life? Is a person capable of change? Is death the answer? How
much can someone really just write off? Is killing in self defense any better than murder itself? what if this had
been in a time of war, would it have been so bad if they had been enemies across a field?
Again Squall touched the scar across his forehead, and felt how an inch deeper and Seifer would be the Bear,
or not? would he be Sorrow? WOuld he be either? This situation, so similar, but so different. Why did a seventeen
year old have to have the blood of a comrade on his hands? why?why?how?who? He brushed his hair out of his eyes,
and sat to stare at the sunset. How long have I been here? He lay back closed his eyes and opened his mind to the
flood of questions that poured through his mind. So many questions, no answers, maybe that was life? asking
questions, and looking for answers that are not really there, there are no really answers, are there? only
perspectives, nothing in this whole fucking planet is tangibly true and answered. The answers on which we base our
lives are nothing but perspectives that we see differently every time we look in a mirror, after we finish the drink
, after we do our good turn. Perspective is what I need, Squall final figures, and Ill never find it. All I can do
is hope.
The wind swept sharp across the high plateau, a cold northern wind blowing from far beyond the ocean, it chilled the
length of the land, and came to rest on the mountain, as if caught by the vast clouds that hang perpetually in the
sky. The wind never abates, and left little for the plants to feed from, the only growth was lichens and shrubs,
hardly fit to be eaten or even exist, a meager place. It was never questioned why Cid was buried in the remotest
part of Trabia, nor did anyone think twice of it, he was an odd man, but still a great man, and though simple, his
grave somehow fit him. A simple block place over a tomb hewn of the rocks which were the only ground, a simple
message "Only History will provide for this great man an adequate reward", and the simple land in which it was built
.
Squall came here often, not for the beauty of it, nor for the reminder of Cid, but for the quiet, the peace
which was the true embodiement of the land. In a land so untouched no sound but his own feet could rent the pure
silence. The freshest air, the brightest sun, the sheerest cliffs could only ever add to that expansive silence, it
was an omnipotent, humbling experience for Squall, one he found quietly enjoyable.
He crept slowly through the brush, and padded softly across the exposed rock, experiencing the landscape
with all his senses, watching, feeling the world he lived in, and as he came to the edge of the grantie wall on
which he stood, he pondered the frailty of life. He thought of a poor life cut in its prime by a feeling so easy to
beat, but only when you are conscious of feeling it.He mulled over the punishment for a murderer who may not be an
immoral person. Had the same not been so when he had ought Seifer so many times? I have to do my best or I won't
see sis again, what did Sorrow have to prove? Seifer was always looking for attention,was Sorrow like that? He
always helped out, put in extra time, he was strong with a gunblade, the Bear was a fearsome fighter, but a gentle
man, what had really happened? Death, a life for a life? Is a person capable of change? Is death the answer? How
much can someone really just write off? Is killing in self defense any better than murder itself? what if this had
been in a time of war, would it have been so bad if they had been enemies across a field?
Again Squall touched the scar across his forehead, and felt how an inch deeper and Seifer would be the Bear,
or not? would he be Sorrow? WOuld he be either? This situation, so similar, but so different. Why did a seventeen
year old have to have the blood of a comrade on his hands? why?why?how?who? He brushed his hair out of his eyes,
and sat to stare at the sunset. How long have I been here? He lay back closed his eyes and opened his mind to the
flood of questions that poured through his mind. So many questions, no answers, maybe that was life? asking
questions, and looking for answers that are not really there, there are no really answers, are there? only
perspectives, nothing in this whole fucking planet is tangibly true and answered. The answers on which we base our
lives are nothing but perspectives that we see differently every time we look in a mirror, after we finish the drink
, after we do our good turn. Perspective is what I need, Squall final figures, and Ill never find it. All I can do
is hope.