Cliffs, to the South of the Rose
Aremu felt as if he could not breathe, but he knew he was breathing. He could feel himself breathing; he knew that he was inhaling and exhaling, but his head felt light. He shuddered. A nexus – measurable – not empty. He kept his hand firmly against his face, his thumb and fingers splayed across his temples and forehead, digging ever so lightly into the skin. He could feel his breath against his own skin, so he had to be breathing.
Lars did not press too far; Aremu heard him sigh, only just audible, even with how close they had become. He closed his eyes again, and tried to make sense of it.
What did it mean? If it even meant anything – if it – Lars did not think that he was empty. Lars could – feel him. Aremu shuddered. No, he thought, suddenly. No – no, it was – moony. He did not much care for the Anaxi slang. Cracked in the water barrel, he thought, weakly. Cracked in the water barrel. Lars had – some galdor had –
He hadn’t felt it, Aremu told himself. He hadn’t felt anything. It was his imagination; he was as cracked as Lars. And if he had, it didn’t mean – anything. It didn’t change anything.
“I don’t know,” Aremu said, lowering his hand back to the ground. He took a deep breath, and it came a little easier than it had. “I –” he looked slowly at Lars, his gaze searching the other passive’s face. “I don’t know.”
“I didn’t feel it,” Aremu lied again, and he shuddered. The breeze off the ocean felt cold again, despite the warmth of the sun. He looked up, slowly, lifting his gaze back to the horizon, and focused on his breathing; he seemed to need to think about it, in and out, as if his body had forgotten all of its old rhythms.
He shuddered again, slowly. It wasn’t real, Aremu told himself; just some cracked galdor’s fantasy, something he’d told Lars to make him feel… better. Easy enough for the mind to play tricks on you. On him. He showed me, Lars had said, with a tool used to measure fields. A tool used to – his hand tightened on his pant leg, gripping the fabric hard.
He wished, Aremu thought bitterly, that he had not asked. He should have let Lars leave, he should have – a nexus. Something inside him – not empty, after all, but – it was cracked. He was cracked, if he believed it. He wondered what Uzoji would have said – Aremu knew better, but he missed him, desperately, and he wished – Uzoji would have –
He didn’t know, Aremu realized. It was too new, too different; he didn’t know what Uzoji would have said. He would never know –
Aremu buried his face against his legs again, and his breath caught in his throat. He was too good a liar to repeat himself again, but he told it to himself, as if he might think it true this time. I didn’t feel it. I didn’t feel anything.
“What does it mean?” Aremu whispered, and gave himself away.