God help the outcasts, the tattered, the torn
Seeking an answer to why they were born
Bastien wasn't really expecting Deimos to say anything in the face of his tears; he had known from the instant he'd met the man that he was not the most emotionally intelligent of fellows, probably had no place being a counsellor: ironically, the person he most wanted for comfort right now was Rexanna. She had always known how to counter his passionate and ludicrous wails of bad fortune, had been there to stroke his hair and laugh with him...
Oh, did he remember the sound of her laugh? It struck Bastien that he might have not remembered it quite right and now there would never be a chance to hear it again. This was about to bring another round of choking tears when Deimos asked his question and Bastien had to force his mind around to answering it. "..I don't know. I will have to ask the Voice, when I have a chance. I hope she has it."
Oh, did he remember the sound of her laugh? It struck Bastien that he might have not remembered it quite right and now there would never be a chance to hear it again. This was about to bring another round of choking tears when Deimos asked his question and Bastien had to force his mind around to answering it. "..I don't know. I will have to ask the Voice, when I have a chance. I hope she has it."
Winds of misfortune have blown them about
You made the outcasts, don't cast them out
BASTIEN
