Her smile was more welcome amidst the memories of screams and recent death than he could say, a reminder that life went on and that sometimes those thought lost were returned to them.
Not Aoife, perhaps. But if Maea could disappear and come back again, maybe Remi and Ronin could as well? Dreams that seemed suddenly to have a grain of true hope again, thanks to his lost friend's return.
He listened gravely to her tale, nodding understanding of fevers and delirium, a bitter smile threatening to crease his mouth though he held it in check. He, too, had experienced such after his own brief kingship. A sickness that had taken his senses for a week, left him helpless and lost far from his home - but not so far as Maea had been. He had only wandered in his fever-dreams as far as the Oasis. She had gone much farther, and been gone much longer, and he nodded wry agreement that she had been gone more than 'a few days.' "A year and a day, more like," he said gently. "Like something out of a fairy tale." And perhaps she had been spirited away. Not by the Fae, no, but by spirits like those that had led Caiside away in that first ill-fated exploration of the Greatwood. Or those elemental spirits they sometimes stumbled across, the ones that granted gifts to some lucky few and left others wrung-out and ill-used by the trial. "But your memory might return if you give it time. What matters is that you are back now." Amnesia was hardly uncommon here, between portals and blights and illnesses and spirits.
He smiled, the expression growing sad at her concern, and he permitted the touch, glad of the living warmth on a field where so many had died. "I am better off than most," he answered gently, remembering how his trust in Amalia, in leaning on her in his weakness, had lead to such a schism between them. He would not repeat the mistake he had made with the sister of his heart with another, much less one who had only just returned to her own heartaches and burdens. "No one is 'alright' after what happened here but... Rory wasn't here, so he's unharmed. Most of the Loreseekers made it through. But Amalia was... is... badly hurt," he admitted softly. "Beyond the power of even magic to heal. With time, perhaps, she'll regain full use of her legs. But it will not likely be soon." He remained a moment longer before pulling away to look out over the field, the softness fading to a grim sorrow as the rising sliver moon cast a faint light over the fields, gentled now with the shadows at the tail end of the day.
Not Aoife, perhaps. But if Maea could disappear and come back again, maybe Remi and Ronin could as well? Dreams that seemed suddenly to have a grain of true hope again, thanks to his lost friend's return.
He listened gravely to her tale, nodding understanding of fevers and delirium, a bitter smile threatening to crease his mouth though he held it in check. He, too, had experienced such after his own brief kingship. A sickness that had taken his senses for a week, left him helpless and lost far from his home - but not so far as Maea had been. He had only wandered in his fever-dreams as far as the Oasis. She had gone much farther, and been gone much longer, and he nodded wry agreement that she had been gone more than 'a few days.' "A year and a day, more like," he said gently. "Like something out of a fairy tale." And perhaps she had been spirited away. Not by the Fae, no, but by spirits like those that had led Caiside away in that first ill-fated exploration of the Greatwood. Or those elemental spirits they sometimes stumbled across, the ones that granted gifts to some lucky few and left others wrung-out and ill-used by the trial. "But your memory might return if you give it time. What matters is that you are back now." Amnesia was hardly uncommon here, between portals and blights and illnesses and spirits.
He smiled, the expression growing sad at her concern, and he permitted the touch, glad of the living warmth on a field where so many had died. "I am better off than most," he answered gently, remembering how his trust in Amalia, in leaning on her in his weakness, had lead to such a schism between them. He would not repeat the mistake he had made with the sister of his heart with another, much less one who had only just returned to her own heartaches and burdens. "No one is 'alright' after what happened here but... Rory wasn't here, so he's unharmed. Most of the Loreseekers made it through. But Amalia was... is... badly hurt," he admitted softly. "Beyond the power of even magic to heal. With time, perhaps, she'll regain full use of her legs. But it will not likely be soon." He remained a moment longer before pulling away to look out over the field, the softness fading to a grim sorrow as the rising sliver moon cast a faint light over the fields, gentled now with the shadows at the tail end of the day.
