[If Chance has a choice — if he’s not shepherded into a classroom, the dining hall, chores, the Delma dorms after curfew — he’s outside. Like a feral child resisting civilization, he gravitates to open space, fresh air. The promise of an easier escape.
If he ignores the fact that no matter what, no matter where he goes, he’s bound to hit a wall eventually.
He doesn’t know if it’s ever going to be comforting. It should be, he knows. The walls promise safety. But sometimes he can’t help but think that he belongs where he was, on the other side of them. He doesn’t, though, he doesn’t — not him as he is, not him on his own. And he doesn’t know if that rankles, doesn’t know if that’s a failure. To need safety, to not be something that others need to be kept safe from.
It’s a kind of no-man’s land he’s found, between the main building and the training rink. Sparse trees, nothing and no one here, but — that’s the point. Or it was, because there’s the scuff of feet on the ground, Chance turning around as they approach — saying nothing, just attuned, lightly expectant.]