The other problem with that urge to keep walking: it's so often accompanied by thoughts that sound seductive in the moment, and horrifying later.
Like: Cullen would be fine on his own.
Like: He was right to call this a burden.
He'd be happier without it. Without me.
If his mood weren't so dark, they'd merely be self-pitying nonsense, but...well. It's different, once the anger finally gutters out and leaves him exhausted and despairing.
Nobody bothers him, even when the only movement he makes for hours is a quick, fitful scrub at his cheeks. Alistair's grateful for that much.
The stars have just begun to emerge when he finally drags himself to his feet and trudges home.
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Like: Cullen would be fine on his own.
Like: He was right to call this a burden.
He'd be happier without it. Without me.
If his mood weren't so dark, they'd merely be self-pitying nonsense, but...well. It's different, once the anger finally gutters out and leaves him exhausted and despairing.
Nobody bothers him, even when the only movement he makes for hours is a quick, fitful scrub at his cheeks. Alistair's grateful for that much.
The stars have just begun to emerge when he finally drags himself to his feet and trudges home.