It was like he was always reaching for something he couldn't find.
He'd fought.
At first, it had been the fog- jealous maybe, after the heart he'd been given by the goddesses, trying to rip it out with their ill-formed claws. They'd started it. But after a while, he sought the fights out. Pinned them down and took what little they had apart, so he could harvest that which made him stronger. Finished it.
He questioned it, sometimes, but he didn't feel guilty over it.
He was always full of questions, on account of the goddesses first blessing. Suspicious. He didn't take things at face value, and he didn't know whether it had done him any favors or not. He'd run into a lot of others on his journey, and not all of them asked questions. Not all of them thought things through.
But they all did the Tasks.
They were occasional allies, but not always friends.
Reap cared if he came apart, and vice versa. It was more than he expected. The mutual responsibility gave them an edge, he felt like. They had double the chance of anyone else out there. Lately, whenever they were around each other, the voices and images got worse. Almost anything set it off.
It was the same with the Rojdan guy. He'd talk, or clasp his hands, or laugh softly, and Iron couldn't make sense of the results. Skin. Sheets. Coffee. Bookshelves. Something warm, and burning, like a furnace.
He couldn't stop it or hurry it along, either way. The pictures and sounds kept on coming.
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