Found:
Release.
As we passed through the Lone Lands, I nudged Steel to a stop. There, to my right, sat a place I’ve not been to in years. Up atop a hill alike the broken tooth in a giant’s maw, Nan Dhelu sat as it always does. Not silent. It’s never silent there. There's always something crawling around in that place.
That’s why I had to go in.
I stood at the threshold staring into the dark. Things moved, things skittered, things groaned and I…
I smiled.
It could have been any one of them, any old infested ruin in any land and the result, I think, would have been the same.
The shuffle of dead feet turned toward me and without thinking, without pause, without worry or concern for what another might think, I gripped the hilts of my kukri. I stepped forward. I opened my mouth.
I sang!
I’ve not done that since the North Downs, since the night I stood vigil whilst he turned to ash before my eyes. I needed to. I needed to let it all out and, goodness, I did!
The crunch of brittle, breaking bones beneath my blade. The stench of rotten flesh in the air. The grunts and growls of those who would see me join their ranks. Above it all, my songs. My anger, my pain, my defiance, my survival. My release.
Release from the anger. Release from the pain. Release from the guilt and the despair and the sorrow.
I was free!
I was me!
I wasn't interested in the loot. I've been through this place before and I promised... I promised I'd never return to treasure hunting. So, I didn't and I won't. Dead or not, that oath is still binding and I will keep to it, even in the summer months when I no longer ache, when I can run and jump and fight and dance and sing for all that I am worth!
But I never promised that I would no longer set foot in those places. I never promised that I would not put those pitiful creatures to use as objects for my wrath. It is good that I did. There was a certain catharsis to be found in it. An outlet that hurts no one, including myself. They weren't the ones who took his life. They weren't the ones responsible for my pain. But they might as well have been.
I have never been of a vengeful mind or spirit and this... it wasn't vengeance. It wasn't blood lust or an inner desire to inflict pain. They're dead. Risen and walking, yes, but still dead. They can't feel the damage I inflicted, and nor will it phase them when, a day or two from now, they rise to walk again.
I’m tired now, and I reek, but I don’t care. I’m covered from head to toe in corpse goo and bone dust, and I feel…
I feel…
I feel.
The numbness is gone. The anger sated.
Something new, or old, stirs within.
There will always be that little kernel of sorrow for what was lost, but now I believe I may be better able to cope with it.
It’s a start.
