Hushed Willows it's in the lap of the gods

he laughs, a breathless sound; as with before, his own thoughts, not lily's overly kind words (though he'll accept troubled). "thank you," delight murmurs, straightening. his thoughts drift to alarian, scattered fragments of memory, their time together. "i didn't either -- but at the same time, maybe i did?" he says, thoughtful, "in one way or another. i guess after someone almost dies on you more than once, you start to think something is inevitable, you know?" not necessarily leaving in the way he did, but some kind of leaving. he grimaces at himself. "sorry, that's a little cruel of me," he says, though he doesn't feel particularly sorry at the moment -- in fact, he feels a little embolded for admitting out loud the thoughts he'd been holding secretly since alarian's first brush with death. (and who can blame him? everything leaves in the end. like he told olive -- it's him, not them.)