Walking through London

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He'd been walking all day, and it was getting dark. Pounding the streets of London, trying to clear his head. Too many things to think about, too many things that needed doing. But first, he needed to do something for himself.

The day had started in Camden. Another look around the desolation, around the mess. They were still finding bodies, even now. Here and there, though, there were patches of hope. In an archway by the canal, someone has begun to draw something - it's eyecatching, not just because of how good it is, but because it's new, not finished yet, but fresh. The walls around it have been sandblasted clean, but here, someone has started something new, and just for a second, it made him smile.

He had moved on from there, from the place he felt responsible for. None of them had know, none of them could have known, that their target had set up something so insanely destructive as a trap for anyone entering that room. When the door had been kicked down, the room had filled with sand in an instant, and as fast as it was countered, the damage had already been done. And he had been responsible for the door coming down. It wasn't guilt - the guilty one had died seconds later, and his master would follow soon - but he felt responsible, and there had to be some way to make up for it.

But, out of options, out of ideas, he'd moved on for now, and his feet had carried him on for miles, until he'd realised where he was. The flat still hadn't been rebuilt, and the shed beside it still stood with the bucket he'd once filled, so long ago, now full to the brim with rainwater. Without thinking about it, his hand had touched the pendant round his neck - a horned god, against a sunburst, and just nearby, a tiny butterfly - and he thought again of the girl who had made it, and her brother.

"I miss you both, so much. I just wish..." He hadn't realised he was talking out loud until his voice broke, and he'd cleared his throat. "Khara managed to bring Greyfur back from the dead, and we can't seem to get rid of Lex, but you two. I wish I could bring you both back."

And then he moved on again. It was getting later in the day, and he could feel himself heading somewhere he didn't really want to go, but he couldn't bring himself to go anywhere else. It took a long time to walk there, but eventually, he could see the railings outside the gardens at Kew. He could feel the change in the world around him, as he got nearer to the Threshold, and he lent against a railing, and his thoughts turned to someone who slept not far from where he stood. "I am such a coward," he thought. "I'm not afraid of going to Ireland, I'm not afraid of fighting Fergal, although I'm terrified of losing to him. But I'm too scared to talk to you about it. I just can't bring myself to do it. I'm just scared you'll say no. But I have to go, and I have to try, because this all means so little without you. And when I'm done, when I've beaten him, and when I've convinced him not to kill me just for being with you, then maybe we can put it all back together."

Michael Stands-Ready pulled his had down over his eyes, and started to head for home. It had took too long, but he knew now what he had to do - now he just had to do it.



In the fourth paragraph, I'd originally mis-typed one sentence as <"...of the girl who had made it, and her bother...", which is just as true ;-)