She did, and a dark-haired General who loved her very much who would be waiting for her there. Jigano smiled a little sadly and dipped his head in acceptance, glad to see Isuma offering some small solace as raptoral foreclaws began to make biscuits on the bedsheet beside Amalia. He loved this woman who had become a part of his life, a sister he'd never had, as he had thought he'd been something akin to her brother... once.
Now? After the past year and all the tragedies and misunderstandings and pain he'd caused in his self-righteous arrogance? He was just glad that she let him stay at her bedside after he'd let her down yet again.
"I am..." He hesitated, tilting his head as she forced him to really think about how he was. He'd spent so much time trying to focus on others and moving forward that he'd been avoiding asking himself that question. His temper had been uneven, his actions bordering on reckless, and if he slowed down even a little he might stumble and fall. But he hadn't yet, so perhaps the key was to just keep running. "I am sorry," he said softly instead. "For not staying behind longer." He exhaled, flexing his empty hand before retracting it to fold over the other in his lap as he turned his eyes to Amalia's face with a quiet solemnity before a crooked not-smile touched his lips. "And I am alive, when so many others aren't. I do not think I have any right to do anything but hold up, at this point."
And you? he asked gently, in the privacy of the Attuned bond in case Amalia wished to rage or howl without an audience of nurses and other patients. Or even if she did, he wouldn't mind. In this place you hate? Is there really nowhere I can take you, just for an hour or two? The privacy of the Glade? Where Rory had once leaned on them and cried. Or the top of the Atheneum, to throw things at people passing by below? An image of them as children, small and rebellious, chucking paper airplanes and pebbles at distant targets who couldn't see them so high above.
Now? After the past year and all the tragedies and misunderstandings and pain he'd caused in his self-righteous arrogance? He was just glad that she let him stay at her bedside after he'd let her down yet again.
"I am..." He hesitated, tilting his head as she forced him to really think about how he was. He'd spent so much time trying to focus on others and moving forward that he'd been avoiding asking himself that question. His temper had been uneven, his actions bordering on reckless, and if he slowed down even a little he might stumble and fall. But he hadn't yet, so perhaps the key was to just keep running. "I am sorry," he said softly instead. "For not staying behind longer." He exhaled, flexing his empty hand before retracting it to fold over the other in his lap as he turned his eyes to Amalia's face with a quiet solemnity before a crooked not-smile touched his lips. "And I am alive, when so many others aren't. I do not think I have any right to do anything but hold up, at this point."
And you? he asked gently, in the privacy of the Attuned bond in case Amalia wished to rage or howl without an audience of nurses and other patients. Or even if she did, he wouldn't mind. In this place you hate? Is there really nowhere I can take you, just for an hour or two? The privacy of the Glade? Where Rory had once leaned on them and cried. Or the top of the Atheneum, to throw things at people passing by below? An image of them as children, small and rebellious, chucking paper airplanes and pebbles at distant targets who couldn't see them so high above.
