KORBIN
Remember when I swore
That you and I would never die
That you and I would never die
Korbin could have argued that Chulane did not, in fact, belong in Halo. Not even in Caido. That if the Voice had brought him here then he was already a disruption in the natural order of things. But he did not know that his words created such insecurities in Chulane. The raven merely shook his head in doubt at the response.
"Possibly your ningo farm won't change anything. Possibly a greenhouse won't either. But what comes after that? At what point do we become so reliant upon these new mechanics that the people forget how to live close to the land? When do you start saying 'no' to those who appear and want to stay? How do you decide who gets to stay? Can you stop change once it has taken root and started to grow? Chulane, can you even guarantee that you will be alive or present to oversee these changes?
"I think it's a dangerous game to play, to alter what has worked for centuries just for some illusion of protection. Weaver thought she could escape the Tundra by staying in her bar, and yet the Tundra came to her all the same. And now she is dead. Avoiding what's difficult and dangerous doesn't mean it will stop affecting you."
Case in point; he had tried to avoid Chulane, and yet here they were now, having a conversation anyway despite all of Korbin's intentions. And were either of them happier for it? Would it do anyone any good? He did not doubt that Chuy would have been happier if he hadn't been faced with all these harsh arguments against a well intending suggestion.
Korbin wasn't shouting. His tone may be intense and heated, but it was tempered and not above normal conversation volume. If he loomed over the other it was merely to meet his gaze, and it was unyielding. He was convinced he was right, that his aeguments were sound and to the point. Harsh, yes, but so was Halo. Korbin was nothing if not a product of his environment, softness and naivety and care scraped away time and time again by loss after loss. He had seen his whole family die one by one, had killed with his own hands; there was no way he did not understand the cost of maintaining the current lifestyle of this region.
"No," he replied simply, and shook his head for emphasis. "I would not keep her in the dark. I don't believe that ignorence ever kept anyone safe. Nor would I have been conceited enough to believe that she needed me to protect her from anything. She was far stronger than I will ever be, and if ever a threat appeared that either of us could not face alone, then I would have trusted her to face it with me. Together."
He wouldn't pretend that he was nice, or kind. What did it mean to be 'good?' He would go to any length to protect those he cared about, but lying and keeping secrets would never benefit anyone.
"Possibly your ningo farm won't change anything. Possibly a greenhouse won't either. But what comes after that? At what point do we become so reliant upon these new mechanics that the people forget how to live close to the land? When do you start saying 'no' to those who appear and want to stay? How do you decide who gets to stay? Can you stop change once it has taken root and started to grow? Chulane, can you even guarantee that you will be alive or present to oversee these changes?
"I think it's a dangerous game to play, to alter what has worked for centuries just for some illusion of protection. Weaver thought she could escape the Tundra by staying in her bar, and yet the Tundra came to her all the same. And now she is dead. Avoiding what's difficult and dangerous doesn't mean it will stop affecting you."
Case in point; he had tried to avoid Chulane, and yet here they were now, having a conversation anyway despite all of Korbin's intentions. And were either of them happier for it? Would it do anyone any good? He did not doubt that Chuy would have been happier if he hadn't been faced with all these harsh arguments against a well intending suggestion.
Korbin wasn't shouting. His tone may be intense and heated, but it was tempered and not above normal conversation volume. If he loomed over the other it was merely to meet his gaze, and it was unyielding. He was convinced he was right, that his aeguments were sound and to the point. Harsh, yes, but so was Halo. Korbin was nothing if not a product of his environment, softness and naivety and care scraped away time and time again by loss after loss. He had seen his whole family die one by one, had killed with his own hands; there was no way he did not understand the cost of maintaining the current lifestyle of this region.
"No," he replied simply, and shook his head for emphasis. "I would not keep her in the dark. I don't believe that ignorence ever kept anyone safe. Nor would I have been conceited enough to believe that she needed me to protect her from anything. She was far stronger than I will ever be, and if ever a threat appeared that either of us could not face alone, then I would have trusted her to face it with me. Together."
He wouldn't pretend that he was nice, or kind. What did it mean to be 'good?' He would go to any length to protect those he cared about, but lying and keeping secrets would never benefit anyone.
Remember when you swore
we had it all?
we had it all?
