Cerulean Cape I can’t tell you anything

What hurt filled her gaze was unrecognised; he’d worn the same stare for so long before yet he failed to develop the ability to view it on the face of another. Something wasn’t quite right, though, he could tell that much—but he assumed it to be anger and only that, any deeper emotions unseen by the daft boy’s eyes.

Alexander waited, his muzzle closed and expression pleading—pleading or sulking, it was a terrible mix of the two, much like a child whose parent was taking far too long to hand over a new toy. But, eventually, he got what he wanted, to an extent, and then some. News of his children was shared, too, which brought forward a feeling of relief; knowing at least some of them were safe was something that he hadn’t even realised he’d wanted to know until it was told to him, which made matters all the more confusing within his skull. “I’m happy they’re safe,” he admitted, the words fuzzy and foreign on his tongue. Alexander caring for someone other than himself? Unheard of—that he cared was a shocking revelation, even for him. Perhaps, eventually, he would find the nerve to seek them out.

“Where is she right now?” he asked next. If he could seek her out on his own, he would—although, he wondered if that would be a good idea, if Indra would really point him in the right direction? Either way, answer or not, he found that he very well may have to just follow after the fiery woman until, eventually, she led him back to her sister.