He paused, panting, to rest his hands on his knees and catch his breath as he emerged onto a clearing on the trail. It was a familiar spot, overlooking a pond with a great dinosaur like snapping turtle that eyed the world through accusing, inhuman eyes and enjoyed stale bread crusts and the other odd peace offering in exchange for kept fingers.

Dani was right, it was too damn hot out for a run in long pants, but he’d worn them anyway, and was regretting it. It had seemed like the better option at the time than feeling the eyes of everyone else on the trail drifting to look at the healed marks that ran up and down the backs of his legs…

It was hard not to see them himself, any of the new scars, without seeing -her- face.

The only place he wanted to see that empty stare again was lying on the ground with the last of the light going out of them.

“This is ******** stupid.” He growled, wiping sweat from his forehead angrily. He was angry, damn angry, and only part of it was directed at Schorl.

He’d been hiding, almost since he’d gotten out of the hospital. Making excuses he knew were excuses.

I’m not strong enough yet. I need to train more. I need to do better.

It had been running through his head like a mantra, and what most of it actually meant was I’m scared.He was a damn knight of Mars, but it felt like his fire had gone out. He looked in the mirror and saw someone who had failed to protect Laney, who may have put Titan in danger…

In an alternate time, he’d been a Royal Knight, but that man had been stronger. Not ashamed of himself… or his scars.

If the fire goes out, get a match.

He’d grudgingly let himself be talked into wearing those ridiculous pants that zipped off at the knee. Hated the look, thought they wouldn’t be necessary, but now he reached to unzip them, cursing quietly and shifting his weight on one foot, then the other to extract them from over his feet. The scars stood out in stark contrast against his skin, and he looked away, but stuffed the unzipped legs into the pockets.

If the fire goes out, get a match.

People on the trail would stare. They’d wonder, they’d imagine what could have made those marks.

Let them wonder, he thought, pushing back at the waves of doubt and disgust that rolled in like a black tide. Let them wonder, they were battle scars. He’d survived, the people he loved had survived. There was nothing to be ashamed of.

Nothing.

He paused for a moment and then pulled the shirt over his head as well, the held back tail of blond hair sticking to his skin as he pulled the damp cloth free, and stuffed that too, uncomfortable and bulky, into a pocket.

Own his own scars. No matter how long it took to look at them and not flinch.

His pockets felt uncomfortably overstuffed, but he could ignore it, at least for now.

He couldn’t curse the darkness forever, he just needed to get the fire started again.