Hotaru
Hotaru is just as charmed as the Griffin, giving the bold creature a warm smile that has a little more strength than what she has been managing lately. It makes her heart ache for Alice, feeling the torn remnants of her own bond in her heart. But she strives to keep it from turning into a dark and lonely jealousy, because she knows how dearly she'd held Alice in her soul, and if anyone deserves that bond it's Sunjata.
As they walk, his question comes to her on the salty air, and she hums softly before giving a short shake of her head. "No...I was thinking I would light candles for the others. They may still be out there, alive and well, where I can't reach them." Perhaps too hopeful of an outlook, perhaps she's merely torturing herself, but grieving them is impossible without a firm answer. A mother will always hope.
As she'd suspected, it's not for Lusea. Both names are only vaguely familiar to her, flashes of faces she'd only seen once at a meeting flickering in her mind's eye. She hadn't grown close to them, had formed no attachment, but she can hear the weight Sunjata tries to hide in his tone, and the 'we' implies witnessing their demises or perhaps feeling responsible for them. Gently she reaches out to touch his wrist - aware she has no right to clasp his hand any longer - and hopes it brings him some kind of comfort as she turns her bi-hued gaze to him. "I'm sorry, Sunjata." Because anything else would be insincere. She did not know these men in more than passing ways, but clearly he held them in some sort of regard if he cared enough to make lanterns for them. And that is a grief she knows well, and hopes to help mediate for him. Turning her gaze back to the beach she releases his wrist, eyes combing for material once more. Stopping and kneeling to pluck sea glass from the sands, holding it to the light and admiring the color before deciding it will fit with her idea, and adds it to her bag.
As they walk, his question comes to her on the salty air, and she hums softly before giving a short shake of her head. "No...I was thinking I would light candles for the others. They may still be out there, alive and well, where I can't reach them." Perhaps too hopeful of an outlook, perhaps she's merely torturing herself, but grieving them is impossible without a firm answer. A mother will always hope.
As she'd suspected, it's not for Lusea. Both names are only vaguely familiar to her, flashes of faces she'd only seen once at a meeting flickering in her mind's eye. She hadn't grown close to them, had formed no attachment, but she can hear the weight Sunjata tries to hide in his tone, and the 'we' implies witnessing their demises or perhaps feeling responsible for them. Gently she reaches out to touch his wrist - aware she has no right to clasp his hand any longer - and hopes it brings him some kind of comfort as she turns her bi-hued gaze to him. "I'm sorry, Sunjata." Because anything else would be insincere. She did not know these men in more than passing ways, but clearly he held them in some sort of regard if he cared enough to make lanterns for them. And that is a grief she knows well, and hopes to help mediate for him. Turning her gaze back to the beach she releases his wrist, eyes combing for material once more. Stopping and kneeling to pluck sea glass from the sands, holding it to the light and admiring the color before deciding it will fit with her idea, and adds it to her bag.
I'm ready to hope, swing me out of the low
Wide awake in the glow, I can't do this alone
Wide awake in the glow, I can't do this alone
