"That doesn't sound reassuring," Jigano agreed, reconsidering that moment of envy with the new twist on the words. "I suppose with a god there's always the danger that the purpose they give will be less than optional. Less a request than a geas, in that case. Or a curse, if it's not a purpose you would chose of your own free will." Though given the alchemist's earlier outburst and the way his grief had reshaped him, Jigano wondered if there was much that Remi would really balk at anymore. His edges seemed so jagged...
But there had hardly been time for the wound of Aoife's loss to scab over, much less heal.
Jigano had spoken his opinion and now sat and watched Remi in return for a bit before turning his gaze out to the storm, finding nature's unsettled sky a good match for the heavy conversation that was occurring. The philosophical questions continued, and the bard looked back to the manticore at his daughter's name, tilting his head as he thought about what was asked. "Amalia asked me something similar recently," he said softly, and there was a fondness in his voice for the bridges that were slowly being rebuilt there, with one who meant so much to him. "But I think you have to answer that for yourself, especially with how things have changed in your life. I know that when I try to cut myself off from caring for others, I'm miserable. Missing something I can't really define. Caring for people, being cared for, being kind without expectation, and being surprised by the kindness of others... maybe it's selfish, but it makes me happier. Losing them is... it will always hurt. But not as much as never caring at all has. At least so far," he finished softly. "But then, I never had to bury a child, either. So that answer may not be the same for you... at least right now."
But there had hardly been time for the wound of Aoife's loss to scab over, much less heal.
Jigano had spoken his opinion and now sat and watched Remi in return for a bit before turning his gaze out to the storm, finding nature's unsettled sky a good match for the heavy conversation that was occurring. The philosophical questions continued, and the bard looked back to the manticore at his daughter's name, tilting his head as he thought about what was asked. "Amalia asked me something similar recently," he said softly, and there was a fondness in his voice for the bridges that were slowly being rebuilt there, with one who meant so much to him. "But I think you have to answer that for yourself, especially with how things have changed in your life. I know that when I try to cut myself off from caring for others, I'm miserable. Missing something I can't really define. Caring for people, being cared for, being kind without expectation, and being surprised by the kindness of others... maybe it's selfish, but it makes me happier. Losing them is... it will always hurt. But not as much as never caring at all has. At least so far," he finished softly. "But then, I never had to bury a child, either. So that answer may not be the same for you... at least right now."
