She's softer than he remembers her ever being. She's always had a way of settling in gentle, lacking the sharper edges he's grown accustomed to with most, just the outcome of surviving. This is something else though, something other than just her steady calm, sustained with playful curiosity and shy joy. This is her peering into a pond and trying not let her breath ripple the top, avoiding an invitation to whatever lurks beneath.
"What would you do with them?" he asks quietly, doing his best not to disturb the pond either. He mirrors her, resting along the edge on his arms, glancing sidelong at her as his head tilts into the fold of his hands. "The secrets of the world." He smiles, imagining her a small girl talking off the ear of any who would listen, and even those who wouldn't.
He listens to her without interruption, tracking the changing expressions on her face. She makes it sound like a confession—like she’s afraid of how it might sound in his ears—but all he hears is someone trying to do good with what she’s got. When she finishes, he exhales slowly, the heat of the water rising around them like it would help carry some of this weight too. “I don’t think any job’s glamorous,” he says honestly, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “If it looks that way, someone’s either faking it or not doing the hard parts.”
“What you’re doing is important." He's certain she knows it, but sometimes hearing it lands a little different. "So it's good you convince people to try, most wouldn't." She is unnaturally kind, he's realized, and that's rare.
He exhales a bit at her suggestions, lips pressing into a thin smile. "No, none of that's for me." He shrugs, the movement barely more than a ripple in the water. “I’ve made peace with carrying what my parents left behind. The weight, the legacy. Their strength, if I can ever find it.”
"What would you do with them?" he asks quietly, doing his best not to disturb the pond either. He mirrors her, resting along the edge on his arms, glancing sidelong at her as his head tilts into the fold of his hands. "The secrets of the world." He smiles, imagining her a small girl talking off the ear of any who would listen, and even those who wouldn't.
He listens to her without interruption, tracking the changing expressions on her face. She makes it sound like a confession—like she’s afraid of how it might sound in his ears—but all he hears is someone trying to do good with what she’s got. When she finishes, he exhales slowly, the heat of the water rising around them like it would help carry some of this weight too. “I don’t think any job’s glamorous,” he says honestly, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “If it looks that way, someone’s either faking it or not doing the hard parts.”
“What you’re doing is important." He's certain she knows it, but sometimes hearing it lands a little different. "So it's good you convince people to try, most wouldn't." She is unnaturally kind, he's realized, and that's rare.
He exhales a bit at her suggestions, lips pressing into a thin smile. "No, none of that's for me." He shrugs, the movement barely more than a ripple in the water. “I’ve made peace with carrying what my parents left behind. The weight, the legacy. Their strength, if I can ever find it.”
Iskra
