"She might not remember it as clearly as you," he acknowledged, watching the way she avoided his gaze. "If she has lived other lives, between Helovia and here. But her soul is the same, and I do not think a connection as strong as that between a mother and daughter could be broken without leaving some trace on her heart and soul." He picked Isuma up as she started to crawl back into his lap, and rose to place her beside Auni before returning to his seat, his lips softening towards a smile as the gryphlet looked from him to the little deer, and then cuddled up against Auni's chest, peeping softly to her furry friend.
The rest of what Kiada said struck a painful chord in him, twisting around the ghosts he had succumbed to the night before, and he winced as he found his hands squeezing together in his lap, a nervous habit he rarely displayed. "It is," he agreed softly. "Nor is it much of a life. I walked that path for five years." He sighed, tilting his head up to rest against the chairback, letting his eyes half-close as the recently-renewed memories swirled through his thoughts. "My parents were killed six years ago. The friends who had become my family... most of them were dead a year later. Those few that remained were called by duty to take different paths...and I encouraged it. I walked through my world, a wanderer, setting down roots nowhere, getting to know no one well... letting no one know me at all, because what was the point? All I could do was hurt them, and eventually they would die or leave... or I would." He drew in a shaky breath, then raised his head to look at Kiada again, and down at their companions.
"But then I came here. And I couldn't just walk away. And Isuma bound her soul to mine. And..." He lifted his hand as thought catching something in it, empty though it was, and the hint of a smile found him again. "And I realized I hadn't really been living, before. I had been existing, yes, but like a young tree strangled by a climbing vine, I had let my fear of being hurt again stifle my heart. It was killing me slowly... and I had no purpose left but to feed it. At least, until the cycle was broken and Isuma reminded me of the sun again." His smile strengthened at the little gryphlet, and then he shared it with Kiada as well.
"We will fail," he told her, simply. "We won't be able to save them all, and it will hurt like hell when they leave us, no matter how they go. We will blame ourselves and we will stumble and fall apart sometimes. But without them, without having someone to care for, be it friends or family found or made... what are we? The fear of loss can wound as deeply as loss itself, it just takes longer to realize the depth of it," he said softly, blue eyes kind.
The rest of what Kiada said struck a painful chord in him, twisting around the ghosts he had succumbed to the night before, and he winced as he found his hands squeezing together in his lap, a nervous habit he rarely displayed. "It is," he agreed softly. "Nor is it much of a life. I walked that path for five years." He sighed, tilting his head up to rest against the chairback, letting his eyes half-close as the recently-renewed memories swirled through his thoughts. "My parents were killed six years ago. The friends who had become my family... most of them were dead a year later. Those few that remained were called by duty to take different paths...and I encouraged it. I walked through my world, a wanderer, setting down roots nowhere, getting to know no one well... letting no one know me at all, because what was the point? All I could do was hurt them, and eventually they would die or leave... or I would." He drew in a shaky breath, then raised his head to look at Kiada again, and down at their companions.
"But then I came here. And I couldn't just walk away. And Isuma bound her soul to mine. And..." He lifted his hand as thought catching something in it, empty though it was, and the hint of a smile found him again. "And I realized I hadn't really been living, before. I had been existing, yes, but like a young tree strangled by a climbing vine, I had let my fear of being hurt again stifle my heart. It was killing me slowly... and I had no purpose left but to feed it. At least, until the cycle was broken and Isuma reminded me of the sun again." His smile strengthened at the little gryphlet, and then he shared it with Kiada as well.
"We will fail," he told her, simply. "We won't be able to save them all, and it will hurt like hell when they leave us, no matter how they go. We will blame ourselves and we will stumble and fall apart sometimes. But without them, without having someone to care for, be it friends or family found or made... what are we? The fear of loss can wound as deeply as loss itself, it just takes longer to realize the depth of it," he said softly, blue eyes kind.
