[ Her explanation makes more sense than he expects, and for one very long moment, he doesn't say anything, instead looking out over the water with those hard, green-shine eyes in silence. There are a great wealth of things that do not translate, but wrongful accusations he's heard and suffered on his own terms a long time. The fire was started because of that same brand of empty blame. Even the reason he was driven to his relative solitude, now, lies in similar tracks.
But he isn't overly sentimental in such matters (or does his best to pretend he isn't, one way or another), and eventually breaks his own quiet contemplation. ]
Go wherever you want.
[ He doesn't turn to look at her as speaks, the strange quality of his reply that of an ordinary man caught not entirely in the moment. It's advice as good as he's capable of giving, though, and well enough meant.
Leave, take off, do as you like - she still considers him dangerous, to some degree, and just the thought lightens the weight of her presence by increments. She won't go telling her people of him like he's done some good deed, if that bewildered seed stays planted. He won't have to worry about hunters invading after him, instead, come next winter; they'll stay afraid of the dangerously fragile creatures of the darker wood, keep to their own for fear of monsters only their own minds have made invulnerable.
He'd rather be something like that (even when he wouldn't).
Shrugging a shoulder beneath his colorless, unraveling tunic, he pauses to lean back on his hands, digging his fingers into the muddy bank without taking notice. ]
Once you've pulled up roots, what other choice do you have?
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But he isn't overly sentimental in such matters (or does his best to pretend he isn't, one way or another), and eventually breaks his own quiet contemplation. ]
Go wherever you want.
[ He doesn't turn to look at her as speaks, the strange quality of his reply that of an ordinary man caught not entirely in the moment. It's advice as good as he's capable of giving, though, and well enough meant.
Leave, take off, do as you like - she still considers him dangerous, to some degree, and just the thought lightens the weight of her presence by increments. She won't go telling her people of him like he's done some good deed, if that bewildered seed stays planted. He won't have to worry about hunters invading after him, instead, come next winter; they'll stay afraid of the dangerously fragile creatures of the darker wood, keep to their own for fear of monsters only their own minds have made invulnerable.
He'd rather be something like that (even when he wouldn't).
Shrugging a shoulder beneath his colorless, unraveling tunic, he pauses to lean back on his hands, digging his fingers into the muddy bank without taking notice. ]
Once you've pulled up roots, what other choice do you have?