#FORTH NERDOLINGAS

[honorhunt]

𝐓𝐑𝐄𝐄𝐒 𝐇𝐔𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐑𝐄𝐃 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐒. every bead of light that slipped past the leaves was snatched by another sylvan limb. night was pungent here, rich with dark earth and murmurs of dew yet to settle. a current traveling down from misty fortresses was all that dared stirr between the hollows and the rills. no beast of sound mind crept through this solid black. it would be hours after dawn yawned over the greater wilderlands that sunbeams finally penetrated the deep shadows of woodland mire. and yet a mannish creature picked his way across the moss beds wishing those cavernous shadows were deeper still.

      the eyes of his enemies were notoriously sharp and could mask themselves in the eddies of blackened green like a strand of silk on a spider’s weave. beads of sweat hung around his neck like a noose. he was tempted to reach into the grain sack battering his hip and retrieve the helmet hidden in the rough folds. his fingers twitched with need but the boy threaded them into his palms. to wear a face of beskar would invite death quicker than a drawn sword in this shallow grave.

      three years. three long years were sown into his memories yet boba fett moved diligently forward. time did nothing to soften the steps his boots retraced. each delicate curve, every hard edged steel, every arrow that sunk into a visor he’d known since birth with a meaty and vicious pop. his father’s tight grip around his upper arm as the pair delved deep into the mud of a river’s bend. into tomb notched beneath curdled roots; even now, boba could feel the soil’s cold bite as his father stowed him away. that last brush of leather warmed by the living man beneath as jango caressed his son’s face one last time, dark curls snagged on a vambrace as the mand’alor dutifully pulled away.

      what followed haunted the quiet hours before the void of sleep claimed him and those lucid moments before returning to the world awake.

      but now jango’s son had returned. his journey vivid like scrying in a pool of fresh blood. only once or twice the boy stopped to gather his bearings between an oak and its brother. it’d been days since boba entered mirkwood’s wild gates, but he spared himself little rest. the boy couldn’t recall when last he slept. it was easy to lose track of time under the watch of branching sentinels but the wordless whisper of intuition bade only a few miles further till he was reunited with his king.

      the peak of boba’s spine prickled at a rustle. a stirring sound that tugged at the dryness of his throat. it lured his boots a short distance from his quarry. stygian waters glistened in the frail moonbeams. boba was a fair bit taller but he remembered how the depths sucked his legs into layers of spoiled earth as he pressed himself deep into the roots and away from the elves that sought him high and low.

      cautiously the shadowling crouched into a slide down the embankment and tipped himself back to avoid tumbling head first into the stream. a splish greeted his arrival as the shoreline beneath his toes crumbled under his weight. a quick adjustment and the young fett was balanced on his haunches.

      the surface settled from his sudden intrusion to reveal a complete stranger. the bottom of his throat caught the crown of his heart’s leap till he realized the cheeks carved lean by hunger were his. uruks had no need for preening and cad was the proud owner of a mirror twisted into tiny pieces. boba raised a hand to a sallow cheek. he recognized the feeling but not the sight.

      once hailed a spitting image of his father, the years salvaged nothing of jango’s kind face.

      a claminess torched his throat. the boy swallowed, shutting his eyes and splashing his face with a crisp reminder of his purpose. boba washed the salt from his face then drowned the threat of bile creeping onto his tongue. his reflection churned as he continued to douse himself, accepting that to do so would invite a nasty chill.

      boba pressed his cool fingers onto the back of his neck. his eyes found reprieve in the unfocused moment, calming the burn of many hours straining in the gloom. fractals of his face pieced themselves togethers as the obsidian mirror calmed. droplets ran down his nose as the stranger reformed before him in dim silver threads loose in the deciduous tapestry above. one silhouette had yet to return to its proper place. it perched on the precipice of his shoulder. his brow creased.

      that outline was not his.

      the young easterling massaged his neck, listening to the rhythmic fall of water from his temples while his free hand closed the distance on the hilt of a pugnacious blade.

@commandsir​ — on crimson water by dead melodies   /   𝐬𝐜.