LOREN
When Maea placed the rags around his shoulders like a shawl (though shroud might be more appropriate) he reached up to pull it off. The bite from the wind returned almost immediately as he held it out for her. He didn't look at her though.
Letting her speak, he said nothing in response for a long while. "Not yet. You haven't found a cure yet." The words were quiet, more to himself than to her. "But no, I'm not. I'm not dealing with my loss. And I'm not sure that being Grand Healer is a good thing."
If she'd taken the rags back from him, he'd hug himself once more. Shifting, he'd move to sit on the edge of the roof. "I just keep repeating the same cycles over and over and over again." His nails dug into his skin hard enough to draw blood.
Letting her speak, he said nothing in response for a long while. "Not yet. You haven't found a cure yet." The words were quiet, more to himself than to her. "But no, I'm not. I'm not dealing with my loss. And I'm not sure that being Grand Healer is a good thing."
If she'd taken the rags back from him, he'd hug himself once more. Shifting, he'd move to sit on the edge of the roof. "I just keep repeating the same cycles over and over and over again." His nails dug into his skin hard enough to draw blood.
But don’t be weary if it’s broken
Families are like that—
they’re split up and always torn.
