faith be my shield

Samuel Tell me little dear if you've only lived here, have you ever really lived at all? A prosthetic. Sam looked down at his hand. With the wound so new it felt ridiculous to be thinking of things like prosthetic already, somehow. Like he had to mourn what he'd lost before he could replace it. "...I...I'll think about it, thank you." Though he hoped if The Voice was not too angry at him, she might help him to replace the fingers; that was if he wanted to associate with The Voice still. With no idea what he wanted, it was easier to focus on things like weapons. Though Remi's question cut through the simplicity of the choice like one of the daggers on the wall, making it another part of the agonising question of what Sam wanted his future to look like. "No, I don't...but...it's where I am." He hugged himself, not looking at Remi as if scared to find disapproval in his eyes. "I have to be able to defend myself, don't I? I keep finding myself in situations where I'm being hurt o-or people around me are. I wish more than anything I could just stay in my shop and make books like I used to, but..." That just wasn't what life was anymore. Not since the Outlanders had begun to arrive in full force, not since he had begun to talk to The Voice, not since he'd given up his memories. Trailing off, Sam sighed and looked up to Remi. "You do it though. You fight and defend and I know you're strong, but...you're gentle, too. Loving. You aren't frightening."