you may not want to change
but the world is unforgiving and will do it for you anyway
but the world is unforgiving and will do it for you anyway
Ronin wonders that as well, the Huntsman frowning to himself and sneaking his free hand across to steal the wine glass back (and finish the drink for good measure). "Well, she had Cal," he murmurs, knowing Varus only by his nickname. "I would have thought they'd have been building a life together after the war." Perhaps that's why she hadn't come to seek them out? Not that, you know, they had exactly made themselves seekable up in the Cordillera, but he doesn't mention that.
"It isn't. It took you a long time to make the decision, let alone write her a letter and go ahead with it," Ronin recalls, furrowing his brow and setting the wine glass down to the side of them. "...Do you think it would change anything, if you did?" he asks about the notes. "I love you and I always will, but even I can say that you are not the man who wrote those notes anymore. I feel like you won't recognise him either, if you read them."
Or perhaps he would. It's hard to say, from a position of peace and relative paradise (and yes, Ronin means it for the first time in his life, this is paradise) whether he'd empathise with the torturous angst of his past self.
"It isn't. It took you a long time to make the decision, let alone write her a letter and go ahead with it," Ronin recalls, furrowing his brow and setting the wine glass down to the side of them. "...Do you think it would change anything, if you did?" he asks about the notes. "I love you and I always will, but even I can say that you are not the man who wrote those notes anymore. I feel like you won't recognise him either, if you read them."
Or perhaps he would. It's hard to say, from a position of peace and relative paradise (and yes, Ronin means it for the first time in his life, this is paradise) whether he'd empathise with the torturous angst of his past self.
RONIN
