Weary Mulling

Mead. Battle. Mead. Sleep.Train. Mead. Tend a horse. Mead. Battle. Battle. Mead.

Life was all the same. Esma had thrived on the thrill of defeating enemies. Orcs, Wargs...yes, they needed to die.
Yet she was tired. So tired.
It was all the same. Was there meaning to it? The more she defeated, the more came later.

Mead was still her best friend, and would continue to be so. But did she have any other friends? Not really. She was alone.

Amui, her brother, had disappeared. Probably left for home to court his childhood sweetheart, now that he had a scar to make him look more rugged.

Alprith. He was such a good man, and he made her feel good about herself. Not in a prideful way...but as a woman. That had never happened before.
But she knew that she wasn't right for him. She was constantly on the move, fighting battles wherever they be. He was a blind man. Though he could fend for himself decently, he still could not move with such frequency as she. He deserved a gentle lass who could cook, keep house, bear children and raise them, and tend to whatever his needs were. Esma had little idea how to tend a blind man.

She was tough. Rough in language, ill-mannered. He was soft, kind, gentle. He would always hold a special place in her memory. But in the end, she told him that she had to leave.

Aeruthuil's conversation with her, shortly before he disappeared was partially what led her to see this. They had spoken of love, and what people tended to desire from them in regards to that. It was odd how easy and comfortable the topic was. She would have considered him a friend...but he left without a word. Without a trace. That blasted woman was likely the cause. She had hurt him, and continued to. He had already been hurt enough and certainly deserved better.
But Essie couldn't exactly say such things to just anyone.

As she lost herself in a mug of her best friend...her mind churned with wondering of what she was even doing with her life. If any of it had a point.
Until she passed out.