Nezumi wanders down the street aimlessly, feet heavy with thought.
In the part of his mind that isn’t preoccupied with where his next step will land, he notes that he can’t recognise the faded streets anymore.
It throws him off slightly, the fact that the sight of
doesn’t evoke any emotion in him anymore.
An emotion approaching regret builds up in his stomach, unable to fill the space left by days of meagre meals.
Achieving his goal had meant losing it too, leaving Nezumi drifting, going where the wind takes him. He had lost his anchor, tying him to this land, leaving him free to roam.
He ignores the voice in the back of his head whispering
and continues plotting out the next few steps his feet will take, wondering where they’ll bring him.
In truth, he doesn’t know why he still trusts them, after they carried him away from this place and now, after so long, back again.
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