A lone figure sat beneath a snow-dusted tree, dirty orange cloak tucked tightly against his figure. A gentle wind cast fresh powder into small dunes and dusted his figure like a confectioner. He gazed forward between his legs with tired eyes weighed down by heavy bags.

Soon, though, the clouds would break again; golden rays of a dimming sun lighting up the chilled haze of the waning day and casting a somber richness through the landscape. The change in atmosphere was enough for him to lift his gaze, though from it Con just heaved a sharp but heavy sigh that shot out a cloud of breath that hung around him for what seemed like a few moments longer than you’d expect.

Eyes closed, he leaned his head back to press it against the tree behind him. A moment for silence; a moment for reflection.

Constantine was a little slow to respond to the item left behind, but he collected it before it’d get ruined by the dampness of the snow. With cold-stricken fingers, he fumbled to unwrap it, nearly losing a tarnished key as it fell to the snow. Within the paper itself was a crude drawing of a location, something he recognized as near his burrow.

Without looking, he dug for the key; a slight spark of confusion slowing his movements even as he dragged himself to his feet once more. He muttered an “Elyenne help me…” under his breath as he sidled slowly back toward his burrow, a subtle shake of his shoulders to cast away some of the snow before he pulled the hood of the cloak over his head.

What he’d be looking for wouldn’t be too hard to find, and it was probably placed there somewhat recently, in time for this ‘map.’ A shallow hole, covered with leaves and small sticks, and without as much snow as the surrounding area. It took very little time for Constantine to work through the simple ground-cover, where he’d be met with an aged but simple and sturdy lockbox. It had a crude ‘H’ etched into it.

Of course, the damned thing was heavy, and the way the cold chilled his scarred leg didn’t help him get purchase to pull it free. Still, he managed, and with further muttering under his breath, he dragged the thing down into his dim and dusty burrow before once more locking the hatch behind him.

As he passed through the shop to his private quarters, he grabbed a set of string lights from a counter so he wouldn’t have to light up a torch. With a heaving effort, Constantine managed to set the box on a stool by his bed, where he’d finally crack it open.

The key fit, but the lock wasn’t in the best order. It took some fighting to get it in, and for the teeth to find their proper spot as he tried to twist it open. The box, it seems, was overfull, and it popped open the moment he’d turned the key enough. This was met with a shake of his head before he eased the creaky lid open the rest of the way.

Inside… First, he was met with some old, stained cloth, which was perhaps met with a little bit of an eyeroll. But as he pulled that aside, his chest immediately sunk.

A small, improvised book, bindings patched with bark, and its pages barely contained. A broken spear – the upper part of its haft, and the shattered remnants of the tip. Two torn sashes – one worn over the shoulder, the other for the waist. Stained and dirty. A padded cloak or clothing of some sort; colors faded, but stained, dirty, and torn, aside from years of crude patches and stitching to keep it together.

He flattened his ears. The book he set aside with care, but everything else he haphazardly threw across the room. And beneath that, there was more. An ironwood breastplate, marred by nicks and chips… and shattered on one side, stained permanently, it seemed, with old blood that’d seeped directly into the rings.

He stared at it, jaw trembling and eyes widened. Unwanted memories crept into his mind. For the moment, he contained himself. A trembling paw reached for the book, which he cracked open in the dim light. Pages of miscellaneous notes, data, sketches, and more. But with each page, more names, more initials, crossed off.

Another glance cast to the battered armor, then to his leg. He threw the book across the room, the beleaguered thing barely holding together. Then a firm kick from his good leg sent the box crashing into the door across the room. Guilt and doubt began to set in.

Con grabbed at his head, tugging painfully at his ears and fur, as he fell back into the bed. He twisted himself til his muzzle was wrapped in the blanket, letting out a few anguished barks or cries to be muffled by the fabric. Why? He asked himself. Again, and again. Why?

And now again, he revisited so many of those moments. Those that were lost; lost, perhaps, because of him. And how he, at Jyra-Tul’s very bench, lived.

It was hard for him to determine how long he languished this time. But eventually, he pulled himself up and looked around the room he’d made a mess of… but his eyes fell back onto the book, where it lay open.

A fresh message, he didn’t remember. Written in crude, blocky, child-like script.

“Live to inspire. Do not forget they died for hope – Lost only if hope is. Stand for those you found, and they live on. Honor them.”

Constantine stared at the mess of equipment and fabric strewn across his room.  It took a few moments for him to snap out of it, only truly regaining himself when he heard the knock at the hatch. With a sort of sniff of a breath, he brushed his forearm across his face and then slid the same palm back to briefly flatten his ears.

Quietly, he pushed the door to his room open and closed it just as quietly behind. Then the same for the door to the shop area, and finally he made his way up the ladder to his burrow. From inside, he fumbled with the lock, before cracking it open and peaking his head out. Pith would be met with familiar but tired and sunken eyes.

"Hello, Pith."

Constantine brushed his ears back with a paw. "Well enough, I suppose. And dreading what I may have to do, truly..."

He slips down the burrow, leaving the hatch unlocked for her to follow if she'd like "And... going through some old things, I suppose."

He closes his eyes with a little bit of a sigh, then opens the door to lead back towards his room.

"Yea, old stuff."

Inside, of course, is the mess of cloth, armor and broken weapons strewn all over the ground... in an obviously fairly haphazard manner, not as if he were actually going through it in any reasonable manner.

"I discovered a crate of my belongings, from when I was still soldiering."

Constantine closes his eyes, and steps back to lean against the wall with a long sigh. A palm comes up to press across his nose and the bridge of his muzzle, digits pressing against his eyelids.

"A fight with myself, I guess."

The paw slowly retracts so that his eye can open. He gestures around, though stops on the book which he quickly turns to pick up and clutches closely to himself.

"It's from my soldiering days. And the last of them, too."

"Painful?" He pauses, then holds the book out in front of himself, just a little bit. Enough to cast a long glance down at it. "Yea."

His free paw fidgets, tucking the thumb digit into his palm and brushing over it, until he tucks it between two fingers. He ashamedly offers the book out to Pith.

"Guilt, I suppose. That I'm here, when I really shouldn't be. And so many of them aren't."

He cants his head away from any particular location.

"Wasn't skill that got me here. Wasn't effort, nor justice. Pity, perhaps, but mostly it was just luck. Something I can't really say I deserved. But here I am."

He settles onto the edge of his bed, from where he leans down to pick up the broken end of the spear. He gestures with it to the book, pointing without malice nor menace.

"So, why me, and not any of them?" He sets the shattered tool beside himself. "They'd hope, dreams, and families. Dashed. If not by my paws directly, then indirectly so, yea? Were they deserving of that?"

Constantine exhales a slow breath. "I thought maybe I had a chance at peace, even if I don't deserve it. But maybe it's justice that I have to keep fighting for others to get their peace. I've seen what I've seen, and I've done what I've done. There's no taking that back."