You are the night-time fear
And perhaps that is the problem: it's just something that is too alien, too strange, never should've happened. It asks more questions than it answers.Aamu is equally glad that Nate's willing to drop it. He can't change the facts of it, anyway, and he has no way of making it clearer. Sure, there's some details here and there, but at the end of the day he can't do anything about the fact that he got turned off and stayed that way for three centuries.
"You're an Outlander," he says, vaguely surprised, vaguely excited, the word unfamiliar in his mouth. America. He wants to leap on Nate, pin him in the snow and not let him up until he's answered Aamu's every bright-eyed question, but something (aside from it being rude) gives him pause.
Maybe it's the way he words it. Maybe it's the way he looks around. It's an echo of what Aamu did, after all. It says: I don't want to talk about it. Aamu can respect that. "Well," he begins, mild as ever, "I'm glad you've found your way here, then. Things seem to be going quite your way."
Aamu studies the way Nate moves with undisguised interest (purely scientific, I promise)—from the way he puts away his jacket and crossbow to his limbering stretches, as if it would tell him something. Maybe it does, maybe it doesn't, and then he begins to shrug out of his own coat, folding it with great care. "Only if I've been forced to," he admits, rolling up his shirt-sleeves. "Swords and knives are what I'm best with but I've dabbled in a bit of this and that over the years."
You are the morning when it's clear
AAMU
