His new apprentice stands patiently, scanning the woods stretched in front of them, the human trail still behind them, littered with corpses. It isn't his first time crossing the dead here, and though this extreme reality weighs on him, he's smothering dimmed emotions under neutral, calmed expressions.
All for appearances. His heart-space is too fragile to rummage through, carelessly. His mind's not the clearest yet, and still his grudging acceptance exists as only sore, healing bruises. He wouldn't dare to run away from things; but even now, the youth feels thoroughly unprepared for this. It's not the fighting he's accustomed to: his growing anxieties shards in him, the fears of dredging up his burrowed, deeply troubled thoughts again. But he's been guarded a lot, mostly, and so he's pretending at quiet calm with carefully bleak, emptied stillness: predictably unemotional, though having his role to complete, now, his promise to Hijikata in all its new purpose placed with him. At the moment, all he's latched to, and swords rattle when he shifts again.
He'd follow him into anything.]
Sensei. [Here, producing a blue wakizashi. A cloudy, mist rising off and glinting with fragile white crystals. Infused with the boy's strongest frost spells.
His heart favors ice.]
Here. [Passing it off to him.] I don't know how long my ice lasts, but I thought you could use this.
Gravestone-Faced
His new apprentice stands patiently, scanning the woods stretched in front of them, the human trail still behind them, littered with corpses. It isn't his first time crossing the dead here, and though this extreme reality weighs on him, he's smothering dimmed emotions under neutral, calmed expressions.
All for appearances. His heart-space is too fragile to rummage through, carelessly. His mind's not the clearest yet, and still his grudging acceptance exists as only sore, healing bruises. He wouldn't dare to run away from things; but even now, the youth feels thoroughly unprepared for this. It's not the fighting he's accustomed to: his growing anxieties shards in him, the fears of dredging up his burrowed, deeply troubled thoughts again. But he's been guarded a lot, mostly, and so he's pretending at quiet calm with carefully bleak, emptied stillness: predictably unemotional, though having his role to complete, now, his promise to Hijikata in all its new purpose placed with him. At the moment, all he's latched to, and swords rattle when he shifts again.
He'd follow him into anything.]
Sensei. [Here, producing a blue wakizashi. A cloudy, mist rising off and glinting with fragile white crystals. Infused with the boy's strongest frost spells.
His heart favors ice.]
Here. [Passing it off to him.] I don't know how long my ice lasts, but I thought you could use this.
[Expressing gratitude. Stealing the chance, now.]
I can move when you're ready.