“Doubt that’ll ever happen. Don’t get your hopes up.”

He is irreverent to the suggestion. The thought of ever having the patience for kids was laughable enough.

Occupied as he was with the tasks of merely living, the idea of being remembered or loved almost never crossed his mind. If he were to be remembered for anything, it would be his sword. It helps that thoughts about those things simply hurt less if he avoided them and never expected anything of the sort.

Deep down he yearned for it, as humans yearned for warmth, but the desire was thickly encased in a wish to be alone that repelled anything else. The latter was far less frightening.

He looks ahead, finding the trail of evergreen trunks forming the bars of an infinitely expansive fence on either side. The trail hadn’t been used much recently, if the overgrowth of ferns and ivy were any indication.

He relies on his senses - the mundane ones - looking for anything that might be awry. Beyond birdsong and the rustle of rodents in the bushes, he couldn’t hear anything particularly notable.