Oh shit, he was on to her. The pressure and heat of emotion swelled again in her chest and behind her eyes as Are tried to carefully soothe the grief their conversation had unearthed. And still there was some comfort in his attempts - perhaps the shoewarrior was not wise as his father and perhaps he felt far out of his depth trying to patch emotional dams, but he was good at trying and at the mention of workbench and wife, she laughed, still focusing on that distant point as her head tipped to the side and she raised a hand to carefully to shield her face from him, burying her nose and mouth into her palm with a sigh. Her opposite hand curled at her chest around the staff, toying with the wooden fish idly.
"Oh, Are. Your father would find your translation satisfactory, I imagine." With a breathy sigh she pulled her hand away from her face, wiping away any evidence of emotion, appearing entirely dry-faced despite being apparently overwhelmed. Sniffing, she blinked at him, no trace of tears in her eyes, nor the color in her cheeks. Perhaps he had heard a sniffle or glimpsed a glimmer of wetness on her cheeks before, but had he? Had he really? "You're right. We make our own destiny - I think we agreed a warrior and general, yes? And along the way you'll find your wife..." She glanced to check on her companion. "You might start by finding an artist to portray her - for reference. Who knows who wound up here, I'm sure someone can handle a portrait. Even it's not exactly like her it could be a place to start. Maybe someone might recognize her from the image."
Ah, yes. Dead wife - the emotional equivalent of pocket sand.
"Oh, Are. Your father would find your translation satisfactory, I imagine." With a breathy sigh she pulled her hand away from her face, wiping away any evidence of emotion, appearing entirely dry-faced despite being apparently overwhelmed. Sniffing, she blinked at him, no trace of tears in her eyes, nor the color in her cheeks. Perhaps he had heard a sniffle or glimpsed a glimmer of wetness on her cheeks before, but had he? Had he really? "You're right. We make our own destiny - I think we agreed a warrior and general, yes? And along the way you'll find your wife..." She glanced to check on her companion. "You might start by finding an artist to portray her - for reference. Who knows who wound up here, I'm sure someone can handle a portrait. Even it's not exactly like her it could be a place to start. Maybe someone might recognize her from the image."
Ah, yes. Dead wife - the emotional equivalent of pocket sand.
