If there was anything Laruku had to say to his remaining son, it was that he should take care of himself and his sister, that they should stay out of trouble, and that they should get out of this wicked valley while they had the chance, and that they should find their happiness elsewhere. He wasn't sure that he had ever met anyone from their homeland that had ever been happy for any substantial amount of time. Every bit of love anyone could share was fleeting, and every joyous occasion only gave way to a tragedy of a higher magnitude. Every birth was coupled with rape or death. Every mateship was eventually marred by cheating and mistrust. It had never been just Clouded Tears's curse; everyone in Bleeding Souls, and consequently, 'Souls, had suffered the same fate. No one had ever died happy, and that wasn't about to change any time soon.
But all he said was Okay,
because children could only learn on their own, and because he understood that pushing Rachias away now would only hurt her more. Laruku was far from trusting himself to be completely safe, but even the monster that lurked in the back of his mind was at a disadvantage now. Their body was still the same, and so they were blind, and blind men could do little to cause a threat. Gabriel has his reasons, I guess,
he said, though there was no real conviction in his voice (was there ever, really anymore?). The hybrid did not much remember the incident back in the shack, but even though for the most part, he believed that Ahren's son had good intentions, it was hard to discard the belief that he was crazy. His parents had been crazy, after all. Then again, so had the parents of the girl across the table from him.
I'm not sad,
the scarred man told his daughter, and he, at least, believed that it was true. After all, what did he really have to be sad about anymore? Everything had been wrong for years already -- long enough for "wrong" to become the status quo. Deep down, Laruku was still terrified of what he was capable of, and perhaps he was still heartbroken and fragile, but he didn't think so much about those things anymore. Concentrating on nothing meant that there was nothing particularly upsetting in his day-to-day existence, and so, what was there to be sad about? Existing was only existing. It was not good; it was not bad. It was not torturous; it was not enjoyable. It was just there. He was just there. I'm fine,
he repeated, Just tired.
Always tired.