You try to walk off the familiar ground and the old wound hooks you crosswise, the leaving and the ache grinding at a hard angle. Chiron, the centaur with the unhealed arrow, crosses the south node, the lunar point of the well-worn past you are meant to set down, at a right angle. The pull to stay where it hurts because the hurt is known keeps clashing with the strain of moving on. You know this struggle: soothing yourself on the old sore spot while something in you claws to drop it. That friction is built into the leaving. Leaned into, it pries the familiar pain loose, so any release you win is cut against exactly this resistance.