He watched her dance across the pews, fall to the floor as lightly as a petal, and sink down into a small bundle of black and white, her hair and skin and horns stark against both her clothing and the lightless stone of the cathedral. Her words slipped through the air like minnows, quick flashes of silver and sorrow in the dark. The question she posed in return caused his eyes to close and a deep, slow breath to fill his chest. He did not answer immediately; he so rarely did. Instead he stood, his movement unhurried but efficient, spending no more energy than the minimum to reach his goal.
A step. Three. And he stood over the curled-up Ancient, looking down at her with emerald eyes that held weariness, yes. And hurt, both old and fresh. But there was kindness there, too. A friendship that had strained but never broken.
He extended his hand down to her to help her to her feet.
"To make peace with yourself. With your past." He spoke quietly, his words simple, but echoing his prayer. "To find happiness, Maea Valair. However you define it."
A step. Three. And he stood over the curled-up Ancient, looking down at her with emerald eyes that held weariness, yes. And hurt, both old and fresh. But there was kindness there, too. A friendship that had strained but never broken.
He extended his hand down to her to help her to her feet.
"To make peace with yourself. With your past." He spoke quietly, his words simple, but echoing his prayer. "To find happiness, Maea Valair. However you define it."
