Unblooded

What was meant to be a day of training quickly devolved to a day of respite.

He sat there, back against the somber wooded wall of the house, lifelessly sulking on the warm, dry ground. The musty pump sat just to his right—brisk trickles of droplets occasionally leaking from the spigot.

That, along with the rustling of leaves and billowing winds that swarmed the skies was all he could hear. In fact, it was the skies that he looked to for comfort; Silently letting the pain wash over him in a chilling enclasp, pleading for a time when it'd stop hurting by simply existing.

That time wouldn't be near, however. He knew that.

He had overdone everything his body could handle, simply for the incessant want of progression. It was a miracle he was still conscious.

By that matter, he wasn't even able to think. It took too much energy.

That was why all he did was sit and observe, letting everything pass by without much of a thought entering his mind. Eofa had left the building a while back, shuffling his way into the forest's brush. It wasn't due to the exhaustion that caused Heath to leave this unquestioned, but rather due to the fact that he'd already grown used to it.

It wasn't uncommon for Eofa to disappear for hours at a time, though due to him always eventually returning, he never paid much heed to it. The curiosity was there; He just didn't care to ask.

As of right now, the sun was beginning to tilt past the horizon. By his estimate, Eofa wouldn't return for another hour or two.

For what little thinking he was willing to commit to, he established a plan in his head—rest until nightfall, or in this case, until Eofa returns from his odd, unquestioned excursion. After, try and get some sleep and pray to be healthy enough to commence training in the morning.

Then again, even Heath knew the ladder would be a stretch. At least a singular day more of study would be shoved in between.

Future problems didn't concern him much right now, however. He did exactly what he wanted to, and exactly what he should be doing: Resting.

He ate, he drank, but never pushed himself. As the blue turned to orange on the horizon, he let the strain wear away, the muscles fall unused, the nerves lie at ease, ultimately culminating to Eofa's eventual return.

As expected, they didn't share a word; only a gaze of passing acknowledgment. In a sense, that could pretty much sum up their entire relationship thus far.

The foretold follow-up to said arrival ultimately came true as well, Heath groggily limping his way upstairs and collapsing on his own bed, too tired to even close the door behind him.

For the next few minutes, he battled with the thoughts in his head, finally willing to appear after facing the comfort of the bed. He wanted to fall asleep right there, but another half faced with a tinge of regret for not closing the door behind him. Another part pleaded for study, to rest in the form of knowledge, and to analyze his own ability.

In the end, however, one of these thoughts managed to fix itself on its own.

Eofa, in his typical, ever-knowing aura, gradually crept up to the door and swiftly creaked it shut, all the while Heath remained face-planted into his pillow. 'Thank god,' he thought to himself, immense relief flooding into every crevice of his body.

There was no way of knowing for sure, but Heath justified this as a sign of sympathy from the stone-emotioned man. Clearly, he regretted the injuries he inflicted on him. To him, this was fact and not theory; He said so in his head.

Still, this left only two options for him... To fall into the arms of Morpheus, or to try and improve, even at his darkest hour.

One glimpse at the dimming light shifting through the curtains, however, and he'd already made up his mind. He'd do both.

While the road to sleep would be short, he was sure it left enough time to analyze through memories alone. To picture the books he read, the journal he meticulously spent hours of his life taking notes in, and even memories of the one-sided slaughter that took place at the spring. All of that would only take a moment.

And so he began to dissect.

What did he do wrong? What could he have done differently? What did the notes mention about this specific instance? All of which were questions that were answered. He didn't leave the slightest rock unturned, the tiniest bit of hay unpicked, nor the loneliest drop of detail ungathered. He took it all in.

And, of course, while lost in the throes of deep thought, sleep didn't take long to sweep him away. Over the course of the night, even amidst his dreams, he could feel his body begin to mend and his mind begin to heal. Not enough for a full-on sparring session, to be sure, but enough to safely study—this time with the physical rather than the mental—without wincing at every light twitch of movement he produced.

This was a monumental success, however. He'd turned an either-or night to a successful night of multitasking. A night of reflection.

All he needed to do now was study until his eyes began to numb and dry.

Just as Eofa had stated... he needed to live and breathe the knowledge, and this would be his official first step.

And so, as the morning sun glinted far overhead, his buffer day officially began. He'd slept longer that night, accidentally far off into mid-noon to give further rest to his injuries. Still, he made use of the time. A lingering fear plagued his mind at first, worrying for Eofa's opinion on why he didn't train today. Much to his surprise, however, he was relatively indifferent. He didn't speak a word about it, only silently eating and drinking, reading books and hanging around the bar.

He supposed Eofa wasn't lying, then. They truly do have room for error, a few years at the very least. Still, the boy refused to take that.

He refused to be a dead man walking. He wanted to grow. He wanted to learn...

...And for the rest of the day, he did so in silence until the moon crept out once again.