tales of loss and fire and faith

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It's the dead of the night, and M'ahina can't help but feel a certain restlessness. It seems the major problems are behind them, and though she knows something will eventually come up—it always does—this feels a degree more final than it normally does. Mayhap it's because they've all elected to travel different roads, a discussion to which she wasn't able to contribute much. She's never been the most politically savvy, and to add a voice of sentimentality to more well-reasoned arguments would do them all an injustice. And she's finding that the thought of continuing to adventure at her leisure is … easier? More comforting? Than she ever dared to dream.

Yet she cannot deny there's a certain weight there. A sort of wondering that, even with all the threads of their adventures neatly tied, perhaps they trimmed the excess off a little too neatly? That... maybe there are things left unsaid, and better to say them now than to be let them be forgotten with new distractions. She's not used to heeding such thoughts—normally she would discard them with nary a second thought. But this time, she allows herself the distraction, and swings her feet over her bed. They lead her to Thancred's room, and, despite the hour, she gives a purposeful knock.

She'll call it returning a favor.

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February 2022

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December 21st, 2021

words unspoken | ENDWALKER SPOILERS