Silence stretches between them, so long that Lyra begins to wonder if she's said the wrong thing, so heavy that she can practically feel its weight bearing down on her shoulders. It feels like when one of her kids has something to get off their chest, something that they feel will somehow irrevocably change the way she sees them, something that they worry will irreparably change the relationship. She's known for some time now that there's a shadow in Noah; she wonders now if its source is about to appear in the light.
When he finally speaks, it's slow and measured, as though every word pains him. Lyra waits patiently, drawn quickly into the tale he spins for her, perusing the story that he lays out before her like a map that she imagines leads directly to his heart. His wife, their hunt, the dragon - each word that passed Noah's lips costs him dearly. She can see it written in the lines of his face, in the way he clenches his fingers into the wood grain.
"I'm so sorry," she says, voice quiet. It makes sense now, the detailed preparations; she wonders how long Noah has carried this burden, and whether it's a weight he has borne alone. She longs to reach for him, to offer comfort in the only way she knows how, but she resists, certain that he would not welcome a hug just now. "I can't imagine how difficult that must have been."
There's no judgment in her gaze - just compassion, and an understanding that runs deeper than even she can recognize. His story is all too common across Caido. The land is not always kind to those who inhabit it - something to which Lyra can freely attest. That still doesn't make it Noah's fault, but she decides not to press the matter. There's no sense in picking at a wound that hasn't quite scabbed over.
When he finally speaks, it's slow and measured, as though every word pains him. Lyra waits patiently, drawn quickly into the tale he spins for her, perusing the story that he lays out before her like a map that she imagines leads directly to his heart. His wife, their hunt, the dragon - each word that passed Noah's lips costs him dearly. She can see it written in the lines of his face, in the way he clenches his fingers into the wood grain.
"I'm so sorry," she says, voice quiet. It makes sense now, the detailed preparations; she wonders how long Noah has carried this burden, and whether it's a weight he has borne alone. She longs to reach for him, to offer comfort in the only way she knows how, but she resists, certain that he would not welcome a hug just now. "I can't imagine how difficult that must have been."
There's no judgment in her gaze - just compassion, and an understanding that runs deeper than even she can recognize. His story is all too common across Caido. The land is not always kind to those who inhabit it - something to which Lyra can freely attest. That still doesn't make it Noah's fault, but she decides not to press the matter. There's no sense in picking at a wound that hasn't quite scabbed over.
lyra
Who could ever leave me darling... but who could stay?
