KORBIN
Remember when I swore
That you and I would never die
That you and I would never die
Of course he knew it hurt. But there was a difference in their ability to pick themselves up and keep walking. Or perhaps in how much they gave to those around them. Maybe Korbin was just weaker than her, unable to recover that spark of will to move on; he didn't just drop it with every loss, it went out. And rekindled slower and slow, less bright, less... everything.
She'd rather have them for a time. He'd rather not have them at all, if the inevitable conclusion would always be pain. Nothing brought by others seemed quite worth it.
He watched as she resumed working on the hide, more focused on the scribbles than the work. When she told him about Maea, Korbin sighed and nodded. "I know," he told her quietly. Quite ignoring the grime on his hands, the work before them, he reached out an arm to wrap it about her shoulders. He remembered how she'd talked about the girl, the hope and joy and enthusiasm... had seen the notes posted by her in the Hollowed Ground, and met one who claimed to be her family. Korbin couldn't say he was sorry to have missed someone who left that much impact on others - he didn't care to share their grief. Had too much of it already - which was the whole point.
But he was grateful that Weaver told him, all the same. Even if it was late, even if it only mattered to her; at least he was given the chance to be there for his sister when she was hurting. "May she burn brightly," he said simply, paying the usual quiet respect for the dead.
"How do we do that?" he asked then, prepared to hold her if she wished, or get back to the work if that's what Weaver preferred. "I don't want to be like this, you know. I just don't know how to stop."
Letting go had never been something he was good at.
She'd rather have them for a time. He'd rather not have them at all, if the inevitable conclusion would always be pain. Nothing brought by others seemed quite worth it.
He watched as she resumed working on the hide, more focused on the scribbles than the work. When she told him about Maea, Korbin sighed and nodded. "I know," he told her quietly. Quite ignoring the grime on his hands, the work before them, he reached out an arm to wrap it about her shoulders. He remembered how she'd talked about the girl, the hope and joy and enthusiasm... had seen the notes posted by her in the Hollowed Ground, and met one who claimed to be her family. Korbin couldn't say he was sorry to have missed someone who left that much impact on others - he didn't care to share their grief. Had too much of it already - which was the whole point.
But he was grateful that Weaver told him, all the same. Even if it was late, even if it only mattered to her; at least he was given the chance to be there for his sister when she was hurting. "May she burn brightly," he said simply, paying the usual quiet respect for the dead.
"How do we do that?" he asked then, prepared to hold her if she wished, or get back to the work if that's what Weaver preferred. "I don't want to be like this, you know. I just don't know how to stop."
Letting go had never been something he was good at.
Remember when you swore
we had it all?
we had it all?
