I can barely see the capital from my place in the grasslands.

Nothing more than a speck in the distance.

Though the distance is marvelous, how long it took he finds surprising.

 

It must have been a day since I left the place, and I've yet to feel tired.

Though my mind still replays the scenes I witnessed, the people that no longer live.

My thoughts still hang heavy with the images of their husks, of the people now gone.

 

Though before my thoughts go further, I remind myself they must be in the goddess's arms at this point.

The only thing Emma had left were the clothes on his back that prisoners wore.

With how many holes are in the outfit, it might be better to call it the garb of a beggar.

 

Emma stares quietly back to the place that was once his home, now nothing more than a graveyard.

He doesn't say a word as he turns back to his path, cleaving through it as he returns to his thoughts.

Though he quickly scolds himself for continuing this silly charade of muting and guilt. 

 

Perhaps I could sit on the guilt longer, but survival comes first, then self-reflection.

I'll need much longer any way to digest everything I saw in the streets of my home.

The days when I was the Royal Jester are long gone now it's time for the present.

 

Emma wanders the grasslands, trying to keep his head out of the darkness in his mind.

As he wanders further into the lands, scarring some of the smaller animals from him.

Paying little mind to them as he walks through the grasslands, leaving a path behind him.

 

Emma commentates to himself, watching as the grass vanish once cut by his claws.

Stretching his digits and watching the claws flex in sync, sparkling in whatever light is present.

As a spark of misplaced curiosity, he calls upon one of the 'slabs' he feels within.

 

It forms in his clawed hand, slow at first but soon growing in detail.

A grass-colored slab of seemingly stone, little sheaves of grass covering its surface.

Something that would not look out of place in a gallery.

 

Others would be hard-pressed to categorize what Emma held in his hand.

Emma would have no such problem himself, as he innately knew what it was.

It was a [Slab of Grass] that he held in his claw.

 

Something that should not exist, yet it does so in defiance, perhaps?

Emma waxes philosophy to himself in an idle manner,

As his other claw continues to cleave the grass out of sight.

 

Though the exercise helps keep his mind sharp, Emma's thoughts could not help shift to his destination.

As his thoughts turned toward his destination, he returned the slab to the space within.

Begin using both his clawed hands to remove the foliage, with squirrels and the-like running away from his footsteps.

 

He wishes he had paid closer attention to how the neighboring villages interacted with the capital folk.

Emma wonders what he will find in the next town he enters.

Wondering if his treatment was worse or better compared to the treatment of the Nobles gave the peasantry.

 

Though that line of thought is quickly banished from his mind as he concludes.

That regardless of quantity and quality, suffering is a horrible thing in itself.

He realigns his focus to his current situation as he clears away the foliage with fervor.

 

Though the thoughts still do linger, though now in regards to the village's state.

Perhaps he will find discord and destruction wreaking havoc on the populace.

Or if perhaps the capital was not so connected with its nearby villages beyond taxes and connections.

 

He might come across a village at rest.

Where there is no trace of chaos is present in the air to the people, only peace.

The only thing out of place would be himself in the sleepy village.

 

Emma has no way to know their state, with how long it has been since he was in the small villages.

That perhaps even extended to the little village he grew up in during his youth.

He couldn't return with the increasing unease festering in the country.

 

He had a duty to his ruler to ensure his majesty did not collapse from the stress.

Sadly it left little room for Emma at the time to learn any further news about his family's condition.

Though perhaps that was for the better, as he held little love for the family members that were still alive.

 

After his mother's passing, none of the others could tolerate what made Emma a natural fool.

They tended to try to display superiority over him in some vain attempt to make themselves better.

Their plans also tended to blow in their face as he just tended to respond with venom and pinpoint precision.

 

It was always a comical scene to him to watch them try and fail to display superiority.

As far as Emma was concerned, it was just a great comedic play.

He barely took much of it to heart with how apparent their mockery was.

 

If anything, he felt guilty when he on occasion caused harm, regardless of intent.

He couldn't quite stomach the idea of causing permanent harm, at least not harm that reveals organs and fountains of blood.

Part of why his mother perhaps pushed for him to get a craftsman job as soon as he could.

 

Emma continues his reminiscing as he walks forward, leaving a long path through the bush.

Though it will have significance later on, it will be long after Emma is gone.

Its existence will befuddle many settlers in the coming months.

 

Emma could care less at the moment.

For what he was facing took far more priority than idle thoughts.

For what was in front of him was a skeletal giant rising from the shallow grave it slumbered.