Word count: 1005 words
Whenever Slievenamon found herself in times of trouble, she believed she could feel her wonder calling out to her like the beckoning hand of a parent to comfort a child. It'd been weeks since she last visited the mountain Slievenamon, namely because she was busy patrolling and actively avoiding school. Unfortunately, the guilt of taking that Negaverse lieutenant's life was eating away at her sensibilities, leaving her a husk of the cheerful, bubbly teen she was. The Chaos she had accepted into her since the purification of the Code piece had all but torn her apart body and soul. Eventually, Slievenamon couldn't avoid the call anymore, and announced the pledge of her dedication to Neptune. Encompassed by a white light, she was pulled through time and space to end up on the northern base of the mountain.
The squire felt a calm wash over her, and while it didn't completely rid her of her guilt, Slievenamon felt the comfort of home. She immediately began to trudge up the mountain, energy slipping from her with each staggering step. By the time she reached the top, she let out a few gravely pants after catching onto the cairn at the top of the mount.
"Sheesh, I f-forgot... how hard... of a climb... it was to the... top," she said, heaving.
After fixing herself straight, she glanced to the temple, and immediately began to walk to it. Pulling the huge doors open, light filtered inside, and like all of the other times she did, a peculiar feeling of the past welled up within her.
Slievenamon frowned in disgust and thought, This place is always a damn mess.
And though it was untouched by the activity of others for centuries, the squire still couldn't help that thought. The image before her of overturned jugs of wine, chairs, paper and debris weren't dissimilar to the views of the past that flickered on the edge of her memory. Trudging inside, she picked up a frayed broom leaned against a wall, which Slievenamon couldn't help but observe was well used, and began to sweep the interior of the temple. What began as a general chore turned into a hardened sense to clean the entirety of the temple. The squire went at it for who knows how long; sweeping out piles upon piles of dust, righting all of the overturned furniture and dishware, washing the stained walls and windows. Doing so helped stave off the guilt of taking that Negaverse lieutenant's life for the time she was on Slievenamon.
Her final task consisted of clearing out some large pieces of debris that couldn't be used in the repair of the temple fixtures. Throwing off her uniform's jacket and rolling up her sleeves, Slievenamon tossed chunk upon chunk of broken stone and wood into a neat pile outside of the temple doors. It grew to be as tall as she was, and as she hefted out the last hunk of marble to it, the squire whistled out a note.
"This is going to take forever to dump," she said as she dropped the square piece of white onto the pile, "I'll probably have to find a dumpster or something on the edges of town and take it all back trip by trip."
As she clapped her hands clean of dust, the hunk of marble rolled off the pile and began to descend down the incline of the mountain; picking up speed just when the squire noticed her mistake. Huffing angrily, the squire suddenly found herself in a run after it; tripping over eel grass and the wedges of broken coral the marble barreled through. One arm was raised at her side to keep balance, but the other remained extended at the hunk that was much too far for her to grab. Suddenly, Slievenamon became aware of the fact she had lost control of her legs. Instead, she had picked up so much speed running down the mountain that it was all gravity itself doing the work. She then lost her footing and began to tumble along with the marble hunk down the side of the mountain, headed for the low hill, Carrigmaclea.
Momentum jerked the marble with a sharp right and it went flying into the waters surrounding the mountain, but the squire continued to roll in the path cleared. Eventually, she too was flung upon descending from the mountain to the base of the hill. Grappling onto a T-shaped pillar of coral, Slievenamon hung from it limply. She began to pant for breath, groan in pain, and curse herself for her luck. As she pushed herself up again to right herself, she glanced up to the pillar, and suddenly felt the jolt of a memory.
Foggily, the pillar had somehow sprouted a face. A woman who didn't look older than her late thirties smiled tenderly down at her; unkempt, dark blue locks wafting against the smooth sea breeze. Gently, the woman raised her hand, and smoothed a thumb across Slievenamon's cheek and through her hair. And though it was a memory, the squire could've sworn she felt the calloused fingertips brush against her earlobe.
"You mustn't shoulder such burdens, Gráinne," the woman said, her eyes crinkling lovingly. "Let it be."
Reflexively, Slievenamon raised her hand, and brushed the back of the hand upon her cheek. She closed her eyes to the warmth of the memory's hand, letting out a low exhale. "Diarmuid..." she muttered, but the feel of her own fingertips caressing her face brought her back to reality. Her eyes snapped open and the squire found herself staring up absently at the pillar of coral. Chagrinning, she stepped back, and began to brush off the remnants of her fall from her person. In between doing so, she had to stop, and look down into her palm.
"Let it be, huh?" Slievenamon said. She then raised her eyes to the sky and felt a gale waft her unkempt locks. "Now, I can't, but in due time... In time, I will be able to."
