if it doesn't burn a little
She watches him, giving in the space and time he needs to muster up the answer. Time and space yes, but this wasn’t the sort of thing she was going to let him out of, either. At this point, she wants to know, and according to him she needs to know. So she waits as the dark expression flits back over his face. She’s starting to recognize that look, as it seems to show up when his family history is involved.
What he says isn’t what she expects. Not that she necessarily expected anything, but definitely not that. It takes her a moment, but it isn’t hatred or disgust on her face, just something thoughtful. ”I mean, I can’t say that’s exactly great,” she says finally, slowly, trying to find the right words. ”But I’m also not going to hate you for the person you were.” Because the Loren she knows isn’t the kind to torture children, and she knows enough of his past to imagine that someone taught him that it was the right thing to do. ”Why, though? Was there a reason?”
She forgets all about the seeds. They may have been Maea’s, but they feel irrelevant now. There would be time enough for greenhouses later.
What he says isn’t what she expects. Not that she necessarily expected anything, but definitely not that. It takes her a moment, but it isn’t hatred or disgust on her face, just something thoughtful. ”I mean, I can’t say that’s exactly great,” she says finally, slowly, trying to find the right words. ”But I’m also not going to hate you for the person you were.” Because the Loren she knows isn’t the kind to torture children, and she knows enough of his past to imagine that someone taught him that it was the right thing to do. ”Why, though? Was there a reason?”
She forgets all about the seeds. They may have been Maea’s, but they feel irrelevant now. There would be time enough for greenhouses later.
-- weaver
then what's the point in playing with fire?
