Caden
Caden - far too empathetic for his own good - feels his heart ache in his chest at how simply she says something so devastating. He supposes if you’re the one living it, you can’t truly mourn something you don’t remember. Merely the absence of something you know should exist in the space it left behind. He feels the burning urge to offer to help her, to use his magic to perhaps glimpse memories of her past, but years of hiding hold his tongue fast. “I’m sorry,” he murmurs instead. Maybe if he can come to trust her…
Caden shakes himself free of those hopeful musings. Attachments make moving on harder, and who knows if they’ll even stick around each other after tomorrow? For now he indulges only by watching her surreptitiously; the firelight that dances on her neck as she rolls it, the fall of her hair around her cheeks and the jut of her horns. Caden is accustomed to this secretive, almost voyeuristic manner of appeasing his loneliness, like a lived daydream of closeness and kinship that he has never experienced outside of his uncle.
Her hands are deft and sure as she skins the animal at her side, and Caden rolls his pants back down over his now bandaged knee to avoid staring too blatantly or revealing the spasm of sympathy that follows in the wake of her admission. If he does it enough times she will begin to think he pities her. “Same here,” he admits with a wry smile, lifting his eyes once he’s sure that’s the only expression she’ll catch. “There’s only so many conversations you can have with yourself before you go a little stir crazy.” Or just plain crazy. “Have you thought about traveling while it’s Longheat? You’d have more options with most of the lands being warm.” He definitely isn’t asking with any ulterior motives in mind.
Caden shakes himself free of those hopeful musings. Attachments make moving on harder, and who knows if they’ll even stick around each other after tomorrow? For now he indulges only by watching her surreptitiously; the firelight that dances on her neck as she rolls it, the fall of her hair around her cheeks and the jut of her horns. Caden is accustomed to this secretive, almost voyeuristic manner of appeasing his loneliness, like a lived daydream of closeness and kinship that he has never experienced outside of his uncle.
Her hands are deft and sure as she skins the animal at her side, and Caden rolls his pants back down over his now bandaged knee to avoid staring too blatantly or revealing the spasm of sympathy that follows in the wake of her admission. If he does it enough times she will begin to think he pities her. “Same here,” he admits with a wry smile, lifting his eyes once he’s sure that’s the only expression she’ll catch. “There’s only so many conversations you can have with yourself before you go a little stir crazy.” Or just plain crazy. “Have you thought about traveling while it’s Longheat? You’d have more options with most of the lands being warm.” He definitely isn’t asking with any ulterior motives in mind.
If he's home, I've got a message for the man above
Getting out is not enough if nobody else can come
Getting out is not enough if nobody else can come
