I do not return to the Hollowed Ground for some time after the festival. I was not among the injured, did not know any of the deceased, and yet still I feel guilt, and grief. So I keep to myself, in the woods, in the borderlands between us. Longheat is at its peak when I return, finally venturing deep enough away from the trees to reach the settlement, the library nestled near its heart.
Inside, it is cool, the stone protecting from the onslaught of sun, and I am content to wander aimlessly, fingers tracing over the spines of books as I pass them, consider them. Nothing ever jumps out at me though, and so on the shelf they stay. On my third or fourth trawl up and down a random aisle, I find a door, stairs leading down, and pause. Hadn’t Jigano said the loreseekers used the space in the basement? And... I was now a loreseeker. It was only fair I knew what the guildhall looked like.
With a renewed pep, I start down the stairs. The stone grows cooler, enough that I flutter instead of walk, the faint buzz of my wings preceding me.
Tarasha
the adnascentia of my soul will crack the earth
