⟪ she lets him, watching him quietly. he is terribly cold, and she makes sure to bring up the blanket again, in hopes of warming him after the cold, harsh awakening. ⟫
I have my faith. ⟪ she speaks of it often enough to make it the shape of a companion. she does not, distinctly, think of the lord's champion just now – too unsure is she of whether she is in the right or in the wrong, thanks to jon. ⟫ But that is different from having a friend.
⟪ much, much different. ⟫ I was near sleeping when you woke. ⟪ she realises what she says, and tries to step in before he can bring up his habit of apologies. ⟫ 'tis a rare thing for me, to be so at ease, and I thank you for it.
[ so much different, he understands. she comes from such a strange place, one that seems untouched by the technology he thoughtlessly takes as a granted given, but it's rare for him to be stumped when she speaks of her upbringing. it's something he has taken note of before, but has begun to appreciate. he has a lot of friends but none of them could ever understand growing up in a temple, apart from the rest of the galaxy, the way she can.
faith matters, but so do friends. he's glad she has accepted him with just a simple word. ]
I can't promise I won't wake up again. If that bothers you, I can always sleep on the floor.
[ he won't apologize for the nightmares, but the least he can do is not ruin her sleep alongside his. it would be a pity to not have her, to hold onto someone and feel safe, but he's spent more nights unsafe than not. ]
I need but an hour's sleep every few days. ⟪ he has been honest with her, vulnerable even, he's offering her concern and safety and if that means she will, perhaps, now and again be honest on some matter, then that just might be fair.
she makes light of the confession by snaking an arm around him and returning to 'her' spot from before, with her cheek against his chest, curled up and content. ⟫ There is nothing about this that could bother me, so long as I can aim to aid you back to rest.
[ that's insane. how can she not sleep for that long? he assumes, the same as her unnaturally warm skin and fire magic, that it must be associated with her worship. a blessing from the god she serves.
he wants to question more, but the mix of exhaustion coupled with her resting so warmly on him again makes him pull back. why ruin the moment? they can always talk later. he doesn't want to make things complicated, even as his mind buzzes.
(it occurs to him now too that she might not have slept in kyst. it would explain how she got rid of that cat hair.)
kanan yawns heav, trying to get his brain to shut up, and wraps an arm around melisandre's back in turn to hold her closer. ]
Well, you're doing a good job already. [ his voice returns back to a mutter, his body's limit starting to come again after winding down with her soothing voice. ] Maybe you should sing for me.
[ it's a joke, mostly. he just wants to hear her voice. a warm guide to his rest, something to cling to as he tries again to plummet into sleep for the night. ]
⟪ she is glad that he does not question her on it immediately, grateful for the calmness of his nature in the face of some of the unknown she ever-casually brings into his life. wish she could say half of that about herself whenever he speaks of his world and all there is to it. ⟫
As you wish. ⟪ she adjusts her position ever so slightly, to make it easier for her to comply, though she doesn't shift far – far too comfortable it is to be held by him like this.
when she begins again, her voice comes out in soft valyrian, gentle rises and falls in a low, deep song. she makes use of a thing she's learned: with an effort of her consciousness, she bars the words from translating. the longest, calmest songs she knows are all prayer songs, and she does not wish to haunt him with images of fire when this very blessed thing robs him of his peace and quiet. it goes on for a very long time, in complicated cycles that had once taken her weeks to memorise in full, but that now came to her almost in rest. there's nothing else to be heard now but her voice (and his heart, for her, given how close she is to it), and the cat's deep, occasional purrs from below the bed. it's a song sung most often over the nightfires, meant to carry all the way to dawn. this seems to be her intent. ⟫
[ he mostly was kidding but says nothing when she agrees. kanan takes the opportunity to shift with her, turning onto his side to better hold her, but not so tight that she can't move or leave if need be. it makes it all the easier for her to get comfortable and sing a song he does not recognize and never will. the content doesn't matter so much as her voice, ancient and melodious and blanketing over the darkness as he empties out his mind.
slowly she may well feel that he falls into a meditative trance, only one where he empties out the hateful vision clouding his mind to make room for her to come in. he imagines them back in the woods, holding onto each other as the fire tries to burn them away. her voice is the only sound now and though the flames wrap around and do their best to consume them, it does nothing. it warms, intense and dangerous, without destroying. there is nothing to fear and so he does not. he lets go.
attachment is dangerous in its distraction and the want to cling to an object, a person, a life that may not exist tomorrow. he holds her hoping that tomorrow the fire will only warm and not destroy.
as simple as that, even as the woods burn around them in his mind, he is able to sleep under her voice and wrapped in her warmth. ]
⟪ the song lasts until the earliest grey of dawn. between the warmth of his embrace, the calm evenness of his breathing, the comfort of safety she feels around him, exhaustion eventually catches up on her, as it always does eventually. she shifts as close as she can, and then she, too, falls into a slumber.
his arms prevent her from tossing and turning as she usually would, and though her sleep remains short-lived, and even though her dreams are the same as they always are, when she wakes again she feels rested. the candles still burn their low light, and she enlists a small shadow (her skin rising by feverish degree or two) to draw a curtain across the window, so that the morning light does not wake him as it did in kyst. the night had been late, and if he has found rest, he should find as much of it as possible.
as for herself? she can remain like this for hours, easily. the only true movement after this is the cat, who will jump up at the foot of the bed, excited to find it occupied and eager to continue his night's sleep curled up atop the blanket at their feet. ⟫
[ even as the image of being engulfed by flames while holding melisandre took his mind as he slept, kanan does not dream. when he awakens it is not to eyes shot open with panic, no cold sweat, or a rush of fear that threatens to send him into a spiral of anxiety. he wakes up slow and still thoroughly exhausted, but with the sensation that there was sleep when he was sure there would be none. maybe he could sleep even longer?
with lag in his body, his head tilts slightly up from the pillow to take note of the room. he feels something has curled up between his and her's ankles and sure enough it's only the cat. he sighs, the alertness fading, and his head drops back to the pillow without so much as a fuss from his willpower. there is none in the warmth of melisandre resting against him, their arms still loose around each other, and there is little doubt in him he could fall asleep again. not a morning person indeed, and there is no reason to rush that comes to mind.
he yawns small and breathes in, not ready to get out of the grasp of sleep but not quite falling asleep again even as his body starts to wind down into rest once more. ]
He will begin his calling for the breaking of his fast in a few hours' time.
⟪ the cat, she means, her voice still low and warm and, dare one say it, sleepy. she's caught his movement and read it for what it was, but she... is in no rush to move, or force wakefulness upon him. ⟫
It will still be morning then.
⟪ she only shifts to burrow her face against his chest properly. the prayer song serves well for one morning, there are no other duties for her to attend to, and if she can rest a little longer, she will happily do so. ⟫
[ he yawns, voice full of sleep- ] Just call it breakfast.
[ her way of speaking is so odd, but it reminds him a little of twi'leks and their native accent. he likes that about her, as he does many other things. he's not especially tempted to let her go and when she presses into her chest it's all the more reason to stay as still as he can. ]
How do you stay so warm... do you ever feel cold?
[ a tired thought as he tries to shake himself awake, but the warmth she exudes makes that a true trial. ]
⟪ it sounds odd to her ears, but then, so had all of the common tongue once sounded strange to her, and asshai'i, at some much earlier point. ⟫
Never. ⟪ she suppresses a yawn – that would hardly be priestly – and goes on, voice still low. ⟫ The Wall I have mentioned before is a hundred feet tall, and made of ice, and the winter there does not just last years, 'tis always cold. Even there I do not feel anything but warmth, and the snow which falls melts in my path.
⟪ as casual as if she is talking about the weather. well, in a way, she is. ⟫
It is not my doing, not any more than your own warmth is. ⟪ he feels warm to her now, half under the blanket and half covered by her. ⟫ Does the Force not touch you in such a manner?
[ he sniffs, drifting a hand up to rest at her hair. his fingers lazily thread in, remembering the striking red it was and how it fell past her shoulders and down her back. without realizing, he smiles. ]
It alerts me to danger. A cold air out of nowhere, a bad feeling - visions do the same, sometimes.
[ it isn't perfect and comes too late to do anything about it, but he can't complain to anyone about it. the force works as it wants and he merely calls to it, as it calls to him. he learned not to use it as a crutch after many years of forcibly living without it, and he doesn't regret instilling the habit. ]
⟪ she gives a soft hum at his touch, for a moment perfectly content with the world, and not yet awake enough to consider her wars, nor the troubling situation at the theatre. it's quite enough to just enjoy his touch, listen to his warm voice describe the workings of the force, to rest a hand against his chest and feel his heart beat slow and steady.
only when he mentions visions does she become truly alert. ⟫
More in common then. ⟪ she lifts her head, enough to see his face, though not enough to truly move away from him. ⟫
The ability to see visions in the flames is what is needed to be brought to priesthood. I did not know the ability was spread beyond Essos.
⟪ not among a living people, that is, though the jedi have suffered so much of the same fate other seers oft went. ⟫
[ kanan gives a soft hum in response, appreciating another aspect they have in common. it makes it all the easier to speak of these matters with her, when for anyone else he has to give long rambles of context to make it "easier" to get. ]
It isn't common in the galaxy, I know that much.
[ uncommon, maybe rare. the galaxy is so vast after all, but if it were more common it would certainly be exploited by now. sith abuse their visions and jedi learn from them, or so was the instruction. ]
I don't will them though. They just... sort of happen. Usually in sleep, or meditation. I try not to seek them out.
Seeking visions is how I spent most my nights, in my own world, at least.
⟪ so the fact that he downright avoids them is strange, but then – it's a complex craft, the mastery of which takes years and years, and many a priest or priestess has fallen victim to foolishness over them. she'd shown stannis a few, and it had always left his sleep more disturbed, his mind filled with dark thoughts. when it can be a choice, she is most keen on respecting it. ⟫
[ he yawns again, a smaller more relaxed one, and dips his head down to rest on the crown of hers. this way he can tuck her in closer, enjoy her warming presence even as he speaks on a sour topic. ]
I see seconds of the future and they aren't always what they appear. I don't avoid them so much as I don't follow them. No one steers my path but me.
[ indeed, there have been stories of jedi who saw a vision and followed it down the wrong path. he's seen it happen first hand with his apprentice too. kanan trusts in the force, but that's different from letting it dictate his path. he makes decisions for his path, not the whims of the force. ]
⟪ she lets him draw her close, and feels herself relaxing against him again in spite of the subject. like this, she can gently, lightly caress his skin, and not think too much on the fact that she does not have a path of her own, and should perhaps not grow quite so attached to a mortal person from another world. ⟫
Past, present, and future, and all just moments in the flames. It takes a lot of dedication to the art to make any sense of them at all.
⟪ so she understands why. ⟫
But I would not call them unreliable. Ever-changing, yes, but not unreliable.
[ he can't agree with that stance and while he'd normally be inclined to make a fuss over it, it isn't a battle he wants to fight. especially when he's half-asleep and they're so comfortable together. in his head he can imagine making her so mad she'd kick him out, and wouldn't that be a shame?
so he bites his tongue. ]
I don't trust in them. That's just me. If you do, then I hope you're right more than you're wrong.
⟪ she says it with god's own confidence, even as she can tell that this is a subject that has very little but disagreements in store for them. ⟫
So far.
⟪ but why would r'hllor show her stannis' face in the flames, over and over for years, when she'd asked to see her champion? why would she see victory in the flames, only for what jon spoke of to come to pass? only time will tell for certain now. ⟫
There is not a thing I do that I do lightly, Kanan.
[ he definitely killed the mood, and even his response comes out more skeptical than he would have wanted. he sighs and presses a kiss to her head, regretting even bringing the topic up, and wonders if he should get up. whether he does or not, a topic change might be a good idea before he makes her mad. ]
⟪ she does tense up, wrangling with her need to be entirely in the right, her insecurities on things she cannot tell while trapped in fellden, and the understanding that he is both a mortal man and not wholly in the wrong. there's nothing riskier than following a false vision – but she's practiced her art for so many years, she acknowledges that nothing is writ in stone ––
she takes a deep breath. relaxes again, though if he wishes to stand, she will not stop him. ⟫
I would not mind staying like this.
⟪ he did, after all, change the subject. ⟫
It's strange. I am used to the war, and unused to having time of my own to spend. What of you?
Yeah, tell me about it. [ he breathes out, not quite ready to leave her side even when he is. ] I spend my days fighting for my life or training for the next fight. Not so much here.
[ he does his meditations, practices his forms, trains with his apprentice, but every day does not bring struggle or battle in fellden. most days are peaceful than not, and it isn't a peace he's used to. it's uncomfortable in its simplicity and he waits for there to be a catch to resting here with her and not having to wonder if he'll die later the same day. he'll keep waiting. ]
How do you spend your days during the war? You don't just stare at fire all day I hope.
[ he's really asking to be kicked out with every word he breathes. she's too nice to him. ]
⟪ she does sit up, though – evidently, she is beginning to feel just a little cross on the matter. too many ways the future can be altered, she can hardly keep them all unseen? ⟫
My fighting looks different than yours, is all. And when I am not in council, I practice my arts to be prepared for the worst of the war that is yet to come. ⟪ magic, she means, even if it sounds a bit as though she's taken to embroidery. ⟫ Perhaps this place merely seeks to weaken us with false securities.
[ his arms fall to his sides as she pulls away, body shifting a little further up the bed to accommodate her. he sits up as she speaks and now he definitely misses the silence of the morning. ah well, back to the gears in his mind turning unpleasantly. ]
Security isn't bad, it's what we fight for. You - we - could use that once in a while.
[ training is important of course, and he pushes for it rigorously, but everyone could use a break, some levity in life. he looks forward to the day he can put down his lightsaber once and for all and never have to fight another battle. of course as he thinks that he remembers the all too unpleasant knowledge that the only retirement he'll get is six feet under. ]
⟪ it had been much nicer to be in his arms. it had made security quite believable. she leaves him the blanket, at least. ⟫
You are not wrong. We both must know this thing we fight for.
⟪ nothing he's said, except for some shades of his time in training, made it sound as if he is overly familiar with the concept of feeling safe. ⟫
You are not wrong on many counts. ⟪ she sighs. ⟫ You merely touched upon the sorest ones. ⟪ it's not quite an apology for the way their talk of visions went, but it's –– an acknowledgement. ⟫
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I have my faith. ⟪ she speaks of it often enough to make it the shape of a companion. she does not, distinctly, think of the lord's champion just now – too unsure is she of whether she is in the right or in the wrong, thanks to jon. ⟫ But that is different from having a friend.
⟪ much, much different. ⟫ I was near sleeping when you woke. ⟪ she realises what she says, and tries to step in before he can bring up his habit of apologies. ⟫ 'tis a rare thing for me, to be so at ease, and I thank you for it.
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faith matters, but so do friends. he's glad she has accepted him with just a simple word. ]
I can't promise I won't wake up again. If that bothers you, I can always sleep on the floor.
[ he won't apologize for the nightmares, but the least he can do is not ruin her sleep alongside his. it would be a pity to not have her, to hold onto someone and feel safe, but he's spent more nights unsafe than not. ]
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she makes light of the confession by snaking an arm around him and returning to 'her' spot from before, with her cheek against his chest, curled up and content. ⟫ There is nothing about this that could bother me, so long as I can aim to aid you back to rest.
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[ that's insane. how can she not sleep for that long? he assumes, the same as her unnaturally warm skin and fire magic, that it must be associated with her worship. a blessing from the god she serves.
he wants to question more, but the mix of exhaustion coupled with her resting so warmly on him again makes him pull back. why ruin the moment? they can always talk later. he doesn't want to make things complicated, even as his mind buzzes.
(it occurs to him now too that she might not have slept in kyst. it would explain how she got rid of that cat hair.)
kanan yawns heav, trying to get his brain to shut up, and wraps an arm around melisandre's back in turn to hold her closer. ]
Well, you're doing a good job already. [ his voice returns back to a mutter, his body's limit starting to come again after winding down with her soothing voice. ] Maybe you should sing for me.
[ it's a joke, mostly. he just wants to hear her voice. a warm guide to his rest, something to cling to as he tries again to plummet into sleep for the night. ]
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As you wish. ⟪ she adjusts her position ever so slightly, to make it easier for her to comply, though she doesn't shift far – far too comfortable it is to be held by him like this.
when she begins again, her voice comes out in soft valyrian, gentle rises and falls in a low, deep song. she makes use of a thing she's learned: with an effort of her consciousness, she bars the words from translating. the longest, calmest songs she knows are all prayer songs, and she does not wish to haunt him with images of fire when this very blessed thing robs him of his peace and quiet. it goes on for a very long time, in complicated cycles that had once taken her weeks to memorise in full, but that now came to her almost in rest. there's nothing else to be heard now but her voice (and his heart, for her, given how close she is to it), and the cat's deep, occasional purrs from below the bed. it's a song sung most often over the nightfires, meant to carry all the way to dawn. this seems to be her intent. ⟫
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slowly she may well feel that he falls into a meditative trance, only one where he empties out the hateful vision clouding his mind to make room for her to come in. he imagines them back in the woods, holding onto each other as the fire tries to burn them away. her voice is the only sound now and though the flames wrap around and do their best to consume them, it does nothing. it warms, intense and dangerous, without destroying. there is nothing to fear and so he does not. he lets go.
attachment is dangerous in its distraction and the want to cling to an object, a person, a life that may not exist tomorrow. he holds her hoping that tomorrow the fire will only warm and not destroy.
as simple as that, even as the woods burn around them in his mind, he is able to sleep under her voice and wrapped in her warmth. ]
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his arms prevent her from tossing and turning as she usually would, and though her sleep remains short-lived, and even though her dreams are the same as they always are, when she wakes again she feels rested. the candles still burn their low light, and she enlists a small shadow (her skin rising by feverish degree or two) to draw a curtain across the window, so that the morning light does not wake him as it did in kyst. the night had been late, and if he has found rest, he should find as much of it as possible.
as for herself? she can remain like this for hours, easily. the only true movement after this is the cat, who will jump up at the foot of the bed, excited to find it occupied and eager to continue his night's sleep curled up atop the blanket at their feet. ⟫
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with lag in his body, his head tilts slightly up from the pillow to take note of the room. he feels something has curled up between his and her's ankles and sure enough it's only the cat. he sighs, the alertness fading, and his head drops back to the pillow without so much as a fuss from his willpower. there is none in the warmth of melisandre resting against him, their arms still loose around each other, and there is little doubt in him he could fall asleep again. not a morning person indeed, and there is no reason to rush that comes to mind.
he yawns small and breathes in, not ready to get out of the grasp of sleep but not quite falling asleep again even as his body starts to wind down into rest once more. ]
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⟪ the cat, she means, her voice still low and warm and, dare one say it, sleepy. she's caught his movement and read it for what it was, but she... is in no rush to move, or force wakefulness upon him. ⟫
It will still be morning then.
⟪ she only shifts to burrow her face against his chest properly. the prayer song serves well for one morning, there are no other duties for her to attend to, and if she can rest a little longer, she will happily do so. ⟫
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[ her way of speaking is so odd, but it reminds him a little of twi'leks and their native accent. he likes that about her, as he does many other things. he's not especially tempted to let her go and when she presses into her chest it's all the more reason to stay as still as he can. ]
How do you stay so warm... do you ever feel cold?
[ a tired thought as he tries to shake himself awake, but the warmth she exudes makes that a true trial. ]
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⟪ it sounds odd to her ears, but then, so had all of the common tongue once sounded strange to her, and asshai'i, at some much earlier point. ⟫
Never. ⟪ she suppresses a yawn – that would hardly be priestly – and goes on, voice still low. ⟫ The Wall I have mentioned before is a hundred feet tall, and made of ice, and the winter there does not just last years, 'tis always cold. Even there I do not feel anything but warmth, and the snow which falls melts in my path.
⟪ as casual as if she is talking about the weather. well, in a way, she is. ⟫
It is not my doing, not any more than your own warmth is. ⟪ he feels warm to her now, half under the blanket and half covered by her. ⟫ Does the Force not touch you in such a manner?
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[ he sniffs, drifting a hand up to rest at her hair. his fingers lazily thread in, remembering the striking red it was and how it fell past her shoulders and down her back. without realizing, he smiles. ]
It alerts me to danger. A cold air out of nowhere, a bad feeling - visions do the same, sometimes.
[ it isn't perfect and comes too late to do anything about it, but he can't complain to anyone about it. the force works as it wants and he merely calls to it, as it calls to him. he learned not to use it as a crutch after many years of forcibly living without it, and he doesn't regret instilling the habit. ]
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only when he mentions visions does she become truly alert. ⟫
More in common then. ⟪ she lifts her head, enough to see his face, though not enough to truly move away from him. ⟫
The ability to see visions in the flames is what is needed to be brought to priesthood. I did not know the ability was spread beyond Essos.
⟪ not among a living people, that is, though the jedi have suffered so much of the same fate other seers oft went. ⟫
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It isn't common in the galaxy, I know that much.
[ uncommon, maybe rare. the galaxy is so vast after all, but if it were more common it would certainly be exploited by now. sith abuse their visions and jedi learn from them, or so was the instruction. ]
I don't will them though. They just... sort of happen. Usually in sleep, or meditation. I try not to seek them out.
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⟪ so the fact that he downright avoids them is strange, but then – it's a complex craft, the mastery of which takes years and years, and many a priest or priestess has fallen victim to foolishness over them. she'd shown stannis a few, and it had always left his sleep more disturbed, his mind filled with dark thoughts. when it can be a choice, she is most keen on respecting it. ⟫
Why is it that you avoid them?
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[ he yawns again, a smaller more relaxed one, and dips his head down to rest on the crown of hers. this way he can tuck her in closer, enjoy her warming presence even as he speaks on a sour topic. ]
I see seconds of the future and they aren't always what they appear. I don't avoid them so much as I don't follow them. No one steers my path but me.
[ indeed, there have been stories of jedi who saw a vision and followed it down the wrong path. he's seen it happen first hand with his apprentice too. kanan trusts in the force, but that's different from letting it dictate his path. he makes decisions for his path, not the whims of the force. ]
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Past, present, and future, and all just moments in the flames. It takes a lot of dedication to the art to make any sense of them at all.
⟪ so she understands why. ⟫
But I would not call them unreliable. Ever-changing, yes, but not unreliable.
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[ he can't agree with that stance and while he'd normally be inclined to make a fuss over it, it isn't a battle he wants to fight. especially when he's half-asleep and they're so comfortable together. in his head he can imagine making her so mad she'd kick him out, and wouldn't that be a shame?
so he bites his tongue. ]
I don't trust in them. That's just me. If you do, then I hope you're right more than you're wrong.
[ mostly bites his tongue. ]
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⟪ she says it with god's own confidence, even as she can tell that this is a subject that has very little but disagreements in store for them. ⟫
So far.
⟪ but why would r'hllor show her stannis' face in the flames, over and over for years, when she'd asked to see her champion? why would she see victory in the flames, only for what jon spoke of to come to pass? only time will tell for certain now. ⟫
There is not a thing I do that I do lightly, Kanan.
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[ he definitely killed the mood, and even his response comes out more skeptical than he would have wanted. he sighs and presses a kiss to her head, regretting even bringing the topic up, and wonders if he should get up. whether he does or not, a topic change might be a good idea before he makes her mad. ]
Any plans today?
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she takes a deep breath. relaxes again, though if he wishes to stand, she will not stop him. ⟫
I would not mind staying like this.
⟪ he did, after all, change the subject. ⟫
It's strange. I am used to the war, and unused to having time of my own to spend. What of you?
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[ he does his meditations, practices his forms, trains with his apprentice, but every day does not bring struggle or battle in fellden. most days are peaceful than not, and it isn't a peace he's used to. it's uncomfortable in its simplicity and he waits for there to be a catch to resting here with her and not having to wonder if he'll die later the same day. he'll keep waiting. ]
How do you spend your days during the war? You don't just stare at fire all day I hope.
[ he's really asking to be kicked out with every word he breathes. she's too nice to him. ]
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⟪ she does sit up, though – evidently, she is beginning to feel just a little cross on the matter. too many ways the future can be altered, she can hardly keep them all unseen? ⟫
My fighting looks different than yours, is all. And when I am not in council, I practice my arts to be prepared for the worst of the war that is yet to come. ⟪ magic, she means, even if it sounds a bit as though she's taken to embroidery. ⟫ Perhaps this place merely seeks to weaken us with false securities.
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Security isn't bad, it's what we fight for. You - we - could use that once in a while.
[ training is important of course, and he pushes for it rigorously, but everyone could use a break, some levity in life. he looks forward to the day he can put down his lightsaber once and for all and never have to fight another battle. of course as he thinks that he remembers the all too unpleasant knowledge that the only retirement he'll get is six feet under. ]
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You are not wrong. We both must know this thing we fight for.
⟪ nothing he's said, except for some shades of his time in training, made it sound as if he is overly familiar with the concept of feeling safe. ⟫
You are not wrong on many counts. ⟪ she sighs. ⟫ You merely touched upon the sorest ones. ⟪ it's not quite an apology for the way their talk of visions went, but it's –– an acknowledgement. ⟫
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