4338.208 · July 27, 2018 AD
Claiming Corners
The fourth morning brings relief Paul wasn't expecting — the grey hasn't returned, the wound is healing, the river's strange properties have done their work. But healing comes with complications. Joel is awake now. Aware. Watching from the tent with eyes that might remember the snap of bone when Paul panicked and broke his finger. Claiming a corner of the third tent, Paul forces himself to say the words aloud: this is home now. Acceptance has a price.
Dawn in Clivilius means waking with dust in every crevice and aches in every joint, means checking the fire you promised to keep burning, means dreading the moment you unwrap the bandage to discover whether the grey has returned. Paul braces himself for the worst and finds something almost miraculous instead — pink flesh, small scabs forming, a body doing what bodies are meant to do. Healing.
But healing doesn't erase what happened. Glenda reports that Joel is awake, alert, recovering with remarkable speed despite the crude stitches holding his throat together. And despite the broken finger. Paul remembers the sound of bone snapping under his grip, the desperate violence of his escape from Joel's impossible grasp. Does Joel remember too? Do those watching eyes hold accusation or simply confusion?
Paul claims a corner in the third tent, lays out his sleeping bag, and forces himself to acknowledge what acceptance means. This is home now. Not the house in Broken Hill, not Claire's kitchen, not the sound of Mack's questions or Rose's laughter. This canvas and dust and alien sky. If he's going to bring his children here, he needs to make it worth coming to.
