Oxy with a side of Moron

Weary.

Yes, that is as good a word for it as any. Oh I quite enjoy the physical exhaustion. From it stems dreamless sleep most nights and I actually enjoy the soreness of well worked muscles. I have never been afraid of hard work, and that has not changed. No, the change is something internal, something I am still not at all certain of.

Simple.

Yes, looking back now it does seem to have been that way, once. I find it almost funny that it should be so, and yet there is no denying the rosy haze that only looking back gives. To think that I took for granted, well, everything, that is less rosy and in plain fact burns like a papercut dipped in salt. Lovely image, hm? Not critical, but enough to hover at the constant edge of awareness and color all the ihns of the day.

Frustrated.

I spent several ahns last night just walking. Equal parts bliss and despair, how is that for a nightmare match? What is wrong with me? Even as my thoughts raged at my own weakness, as close to self loathing as I have ever been...every time my back ached or as I drew my tongue along swollen lower lip...a flutter of undeniable heat rocked me. Kings, I suck. I swore to myself that I was going to be strong, be different, be...more than I once was. Kind of laughable now, in a stomach churning sort of way.

Confused

I wish I could say with any degree of honesty that I spent less time with this emotion. I truly hate it and it never had a place in my life until the past few months. As a Huntress I knew precisely who I was and what my life would be. Even once captured, after the initial horrors I came to know, even embrace, what I was as a slave. It all changed when the Poet sold me. After much thought I would have to say that yes, that was when life went from certainty to an uncomfortable game of avoiding the thin ice and praying for safe patches.

Lost

I returned to the kennels as the herlits were sending up song in the dawn ahns. No one questioned where I had been. Why would they? Hell, there have been brief moments of insanity where I wonder if it would be worth it not to return at all. Too bad I have an issue with women who willlfully disobey for attention. I think I knid of see why they do it now. Still, it is not in my nature to try and cause trouble. Day by day the temptation grows though, perhaps one day I will snap and be found shrieking atop the central fountain in the great square. Right, cause that would help.

Resolved

I know now that I am too weak to tempt fate. I will have to avoid the man as best I can and keep praying that he did not hear my words. I believe he did not, and that is likely for the best. It is better to pretend that he would act on them if he had heard them than to know he heard and did nothing. There is a place for some small measure of self deception, if only to get through the day. No, I will stick to the tasks assigned me, approach none but those known to me and hope that the Scribe chooses to depart soon. I am looking forward to the time with him, no question of that. I would also be a liar if I said my thoughts never leaned towards wondering what his lips would taste like or how his flesh would feel beneath my fingers. There is a measure of peace in his company, and I enjoy that. I do not want to do anything to jeopardize the time he allows. He seems to listen when I speak, his interest surely closer to my ability to shelve books than his urge to throw me up against a desk and take me.

Question remains...is that a good thing?

Damned if I know. All I do know is that I am savoring every ache and bruise from last night and trying very hard not to think about where any man's heart really lies. To do otherwise only makes that papercut sting like a bitch and pain for pain's sake serves no one.

::the small book was tucked away again, no one ever bothered it. The daylight stronger, and without sleep to be had, she lifted and picked up the bundle of kirtle and cloak and sandals. She would drop them at the shop and see if there was work to be done. Being busy was a boon these days::