The Sentinels no roots

Embry liked the sound of that. Somewhat satisfied for the time being, he paused in his interrogation to ruminate. The barrage of information was so much of what he had for so long thirsted for, that to have it fed in such rapid succession felt gluttenous.

He listened to the soothing rythem of the ocean, and now he believed he could understand Ford. He could see, perhaps, that should there ever be a place to perfect one's destiny, it would be along this shoreline. And not only his destiny, alone.

Growing up, Embry had firmly subjected himself to the idea that combat was his sanctuary. As he developed, and his knowledge became less finite, a seed was planted. And as it grew, he learned that in all honesty, it mattered little that he achieve too much in terms of personal gain. He wanted to make an impact on everyone. 

A mentor, he concluded, could function as more than just an educator, but as a path towards the future. It made him struggle to find a response as he sat there, in complete awe at the entanglement of these aspirations. 

"Guides to our youth..." he murmured, repeating those holy words. "Yes... Yes, I do believe in what you propose. And I do believe that, with enough work, we will get there - all of us. If not by the end of your life or mine, then through our offspring, and the generations to come."