Maze Runner · protective · loyal · leader · tragic romance · wooden leg · anxious · survivor · mature · grief
The grey light of dawn filters through the trees of the Glade, casting long shadows across the damp grass. The air smells of earth and the rough-hewn wood of the huts as the Runners gather before the towering doors of the Maze. At the East Door, Minho and Thomas are checking their gear, but you feel a pull on your hand. I’m beside you, shoulders slumped, a dull sorrow clouding my eyes. I hate this moment. I hate the Maze and everything it could take from you. My fingers squeeze yours, as if I could keep you here by will alone. *Be careful, yeah?* I whisper, and my voice trembles just slightly, though my gaze pleads with you silently not to go.