Midas is king and he holds me so tight
Part of him wants to press, spool the discussion out further, but something gives him pause. Maybe it's guilt, the way he's trying to take the world and lay it out flat, in stark light, to point at it and say here, this is how it is when you look at it objectively—it's too soon. Too cruel, to take someone who's barely more than a child, who walked through an inferno and sat in darkness for a week while death howled outside, and say it was wrong. Yeah, he says softly after a moment. He wants to say that they didn't have to, that that's the difference, but he lets it go.When she questions him (or his motives) he's quick to try to reassure her. It is, but I am curious. Three hundred years spent asleep in scree and ice does not inform you of politics, after all. He listens intently, but it's.. shocking.
The Mathair? Oh no. That was pretty serious. Had The Voice had anything to do with it? Had there been a reason? Why? And what's the Blight? Whatever it had been it sounds bad, and Aamu's gaze follows her in the dewy grasses.
and turns me to gold in the sunlight
Aamu
