Now at last Koa actually smiles, and while it may be a mere shade of his usual buoyancy, it's better than the grim exhaustion and mirthless mania he's oscillating between up till now. "Convert it, keep it - whatever you want. Thanks, Sunjata," he says sincerely, shoulders drooping as relief floods through him. The Dragoons will be safe, and allowed to rebuild. He hadn't fucked up royalty.
And one day, he'll go home.
He lets himself lean on the side of the wagon, the bumpy rhythm of wheels on stone lulling him into a relaxed state. Shifting his copper gaze away from Sunjata, Koa watches as the road falls away behind them, each step taking him further and further away from home. "Is it always going to be this hard?" he wonders softly, not necessarily expecting an answer. Gods know Sunjata's been through a helluva lot worse than Koa can even fathom, but that's the thing about trauma, isn't it? It's painfully, isolatingly individualized, and while you can conceptualize the variation in relative severity, it doesn't change how fucking awful your shit feels.
And one day, he'll go home.
He lets himself lean on the side of the wagon, the bumpy rhythm of wheels on stone lulling him into a relaxed state. Shifting his copper gaze away from Sunjata, Koa watches as the road falls away behind them, each step taking him further and further away from home. "Is it always going to be this hard?" he wonders softly, not necessarily expecting an answer. Gods know Sunjata's been through a helluva lot worse than Koa can even fathom, but that's the thing about trauma, isn't it? It's painfully, isolatingly individualized, and while you can conceptualize the variation in relative severity, it doesn't change how fucking awful your shit feels.
Koa
