sons could be birds,
taken broken up to the mountain
taken broken up to the mountain
Nathaniel is, unfortunately, overmatched. He senses it the same way a weary stag senses hounds coming up on its heels: blind, cataclysmic. Adam has an anwer for everything. Nathaniel is running out of words. He could turn and walk away. Adam could follow. He could turn and run away, but Adam could still follow... and Nataniel would look insane, or a coward, or both.
No has never been hard for him to say.
Except: the cabin is inherited. Except: he was this person, once. Except.
Except.
Except.
Nathaniel sighs, and it's a suffering sigh, an exhausted sigh, a sound which expresses anger and annoyance and also fine, fuck you without so many words. "This is why Outlanders are a bad idea," he says to no one in particular. He's frowning at Adam, though, when he adds, "You all show up needing something and bleed us dry and get killed off, anyway. Half of you have never even handled a shovel in your lives and if we don't help you out, we're the assholes." He pauses to take a breath, clearly annoyed, though less at this particular man and more at the entirety of the circumstance.
"There are empty buildings near the temple," Nathaniel says with a gesture. "Fix one of them up. Learn some fucking skills. I don't have room for anyone who can't even clean up after himself." Shaking his head, he moves off then, prepared to be grabbed and prepared to come back swinging this time. But he makes it maybe two steps before he hesitates, glances back over his shoulder. Doubt is a parasite wringing through his guts. Doubt is that idiot traitor of a memory wriggling between his ears: You were useless once too, Nate.
"You can follow me home," he says, mulish. "I'll make you sleep on the porch with my dog."
No has never been hard for him to say.
Except: the cabin is inherited. Except: he was this person, once. Except.
Except.
Except.
Nathaniel sighs, and it's a suffering sigh, an exhausted sigh, a sound which expresses anger and annoyance and also fine, fuck you without so many words. "This is why Outlanders are a bad idea," he says to no one in particular. He's frowning at Adam, though, when he adds, "You all show up needing something and bleed us dry and get killed off, anyway. Half of you have never even handled a shovel in your lives and if we don't help you out, we're the assholes." He pauses to take a breath, clearly annoyed, though less at this particular man and more at the entirety of the circumstance.
"There are empty buildings near the temple," Nathaniel says with a gesture. "Fix one of them up. Learn some fucking skills. I don't have room for anyone who can't even clean up after himself." Shaking his head, he moves off then, prepared to be grabbed and prepared to come back swinging this time. But he makes it maybe two steps before he hesitates, glances back over his shoulder. Doubt is a parasite wringing through his guts. Doubt is that idiot traitor of a memory wriggling between his ears: You were useless once too, Nate.
"You can follow me home," he says, mulish. "I'll make you sleep on the porch with my dog."
