[Seasonal Event] stitch away from making it

I am fine. Isn’t exactly like a man to say that, when Death came knocking and claimed more than they thought possible? Even for someone intimately acquainted with dead, nay, her bedfellow, it is permissible for him to sigh and then follow that sigh up with a satisfactory explanation. Men have feelings too! God forbid they have someone to talk to that won't judge them based on traditional masculine qualities. She is far from content with his explanation but from his tone and commitment to the work needing to be done, she knows she ought not to push it. She’s probably quite lucky to have gotten even that small admission of being out of sorts. It's frustrating. How do you get close to someone who seems to have a full-body set of stone armor? So instead she turns and rolls her eyes skyward in the age-old plea to the Gods to deliver unto man a smidgen of emotional intelligence. And like almot every woman who has come before her, she knows it will fall on deaf ears. Picking up the last bits of hand-sized trash, she nods in agreement. “Somewhat similar, I guess. I miss home. But then this is also becoming a very strange and exciting sort of home. I feel… weaker here, I guess.” She pauses to consider those words, because they aren’t quite correct. “No, not weaker… more like, behind. I can catch up, but I’m also just not like a lot of people here. I don’t fight, I don’t have magic powers. I can do other things, but I’m not valuable the way others are…” She drifts off with a soft blowing through her lips. She didn’t mean to lay that all on him. Fuck. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to word vomit on you. None of those things are your problem, my friend.” She checks to make sure the piles on the sleds are secure, and then looks around at the area. Seems pretty clean. A glance to Deimos. Are they done? lily as if you were on fire from within the moon lives in the lining of your skin