Bonesplinter Ravine who thought she was a nightingale

try as scarab might to understand her loss, the desertwitch only understands it behind a veil. sympathetic because he mourned the suns of his life ...but held onto the seed of hope despite how he might protest otherwise all the same. the veil of his understanding is sheer: he can see it, the manifestation of pain but he cannot part it. fingers slip against the shimmering, translucently pearlescent silk but it will not part. she looks away from him, and the desertwitch ghosts forward, dispelling remains and sloshing thru sticky muck only to recoil as he realizes he is subconsciously reaching out towards her as she mutters about not being there when she was needed.

this he understands.

had the suns of his life ever needed him? had he been gone for that time? did they miss? did they mourn —

it would come to pass that yes, yes they did but that was yet to be revealed to him and presently scarab must wonder.

if he'd been having doubts about seeking out rusalka, this encounter has dashed them away.

looking back is only prolonging your torture. what is done is done. he does not mean it to sound cruel but he cannot blame her if she takes his words as flippant. forgive yourself. forgive yourself because it is likely your mothers forgave you long ago. it's arrogant to say as such, but he thinks of his own mothers and cannot imagine them holding anything against him even if he causes them great heartache.