who we are and all that we're trying to be
A quirk of his brow, and the lightest of laughs, maybe a soft snort, indicated some rationale of amusements behind all the mistakes, blunders, and consequences of late – rolling his shoulders, then maneuvering back to where he’d left the destroyed dummy. “What is your preference?” Absentminded again for a moment, he began to pick up the pieces he’d rendered earlier, deciding to refurbish and stitch back together, needle and thread appearing in his hands within an instant.
As for why she couldn’t lend her aid, time, or machinations to the Shields, his head tilted, and a flood of memories at her mother not being able to walk. Times of demolished festivals, engagements, and fallen Temples; a stretch of seasons that seemed to slide directly into torture, torment, and a great many other emotions he had no intention of revisiting. Well aware it wasn’t any of his business, that it was some manner of prying, his head still tilted while he worked, attention meandering back to Aino for half a second. “Can she not be healed?” Maybe it was too far gone. Maybe others didn’t have his emboldened gall to ask the heralds for assistance. Maybe it wasn’t capable of being mended. Not everything could be solved in such a way; which even he, an individual always striving to fix, to mend, to decipher, could admit to.
At the admittance though, he agreed. “Of course.” Anything to keep himself, and other Halo inhabitants, on their toes.
It takes dying to know
How to live as ghosts
