impossible reasons

The sight of Jyoti was unmistakable. As the fish came over for some scritches—yes, the summoner still thought she was a fish, because no one had chosen to enlighten him about what she actually was—he put the waterskin away before his hands came up to oblige. Just because he was still a little leery around people didn’t mean he wouldn’t be affectionate towards creatures of all sorts. They never did anything to hurt him. On the subject of people, however, his gaze sought out Jyoti’s companion. After all, where the starwhale went, the baker followed, or vice versa. Eventually, the Launceleyn’s eyes found her, and he watched as she reacted to his presence. That’s all he did, watched, an inscrutable expression on his face. Maybe if Amalia had just smiled at Loren, he would’ve, well, not smiled back. He wasn’t in a smiling mood. However, he might've nodded back in acknowledgement. Unfortunately, she also rubbed at her wrist. His eyes narrowed at the sight, and grew a bit harder and colder. Apparently, she was still hung up on the fact that he’d healed her scars by accident. Well, if she needed a constant physical reminder of the time she died, that was her problem, not his. He’d made a mistake, apologized for it, and if she couldn’t accept that, he couldn’t help her. And he definitely couldn't help her with her memories of dying and struggle to live. So, making sure she saw what he was doing, he gave Jyoti one last pat, then turned back to his much smaller herd of luxere. Then, he raised his voice in a song that spoke of his homeland, of patriotism, of devoting oneself to a higher cause. His baritone, while not the strongest or the prettiest or most well trained, was good enough, and a few more luxere ambled up, watching him with wide eyes. Shrugging off his bag, he held out apples in one hand and hay in the other. He didn’t have time for Amalia’s nonsense. After all, he had a job to do, and he would do it without interference. LOREN Not quite an open book