It was both a relief and an odd sense of loss to see the scar gone, that physical manifestation of a portion of his guilt wiped clean from her skin. "Ah. That... yes. That makes a little too much sense," he admitted wryly, though his smile was softened by old sadness. "I took the weight of one world on my shoulders, once. I... didn't know how to set the burden down when I came here. I wanted to be... to try and become what I had been before it all... tarnished me." He grew quiet, raising his hand to the sky, fingers spread to watch the returning sunlight stream through the spaces in between. "If I make mistakes, if I stumble and let the cracks show... what reason will people have to trust me?" To stay with me? went unsaid, but it hummed silently in the Attuned bond, less words than a feeling of wistful pessimism.
He looked at her out of the corner of his eyes, lips twisting in a rueful smile. "I'm learning how wrong it is to think that way. To place all my worth only on my successes, and let my failures chip away at it... it's a wonder there's anything left of me. But it's hard, Ama. Gods least fortunate is it hard." Something he knew that she knew, better able than most to empathize with that way of thinking.
Her tail tossed water that Isuma fluttered away from, playfully scolding the ottermaid as the gryphon found a new perch back in the trees from which to watch her little family. "You absolutely do," he agreed with the idea of Amalia helping herself, but her question brought a chuckle to his lips as he piled his hair on top of his head in a twining crown, then sank down into the hot colored water near her. "More than I should. When I spent my years wandering after... after we killed one would-be god and raised up another, I gave up on caring what people thought. I gave up on people... and on myself. But here, in the Grounds, I've found a home. People I love again. People whose good opinion means the world to me," the bard admitted with a wry smile for the baker. "Not all people. But there are so many more who matter now than I thought possible, two short years ago."
He looked at her out of the corner of his eyes, lips twisting in a rueful smile. "I'm learning how wrong it is to think that way. To place all my worth only on my successes, and let my failures chip away at it... it's a wonder there's anything left of me. But it's hard, Ama. Gods least fortunate is it hard." Something he knew that she knew, better able than most to empathize with that way of thinking.
Her tail tossed water that Isuma fluttered away from, playfully scolding the ottermaid as the gryphon found a new perch back in the trees from which to watch her little family. "You absolutely do," he agreed with the idea of Amalia helping herself, but her question brought a chuckle to his lips as he piled his hair on top of his head in a twining crown, then sank down into the hot colored water near her. "More than I should. When I spent my years wandering after... after we killed one would-be god and raised up another, I gave up on caring what people thought. I gave up on people... and on myself. But here, in the Grounds, I've found a home. People I love again. People whose good opinion means the world to me," the bard admitted with a wry smile for the baker. "Not all people. But there are so many more who matter now than I thought possible, two short years ago."
