Whitewater Gorge Floating

They're silent for a moment. As usual, Finley is largely unreadable. Derg, presumably deep in thought, hums lightly. Colin finds that habit rather sentimental; it stirs an empathy in him. Perhaps it was the scarred face, juxtaposed with such a mild expression. 

Finley's home in some ways is more primal than Donovan and Nemisis, who are still walking ahead. He watches their heads bob up and down, sinuous, before turning his gaze back towards her. He's reminded of a food chain. Survival of the fittest. It sits uncomfortably in his mind, and he examines it with the same skepticism as a veteran pawn shop owner would look at a Rolex replica. He realises that the empathy he'd felt for Derg would be wholly unwelcome in such a place.

"Then if they're born blind, deaf, weak-- a death sentence." He can't help but let bitterness seep into his voice. To have your child die simply because they were unfortunate in some distant genetic dice roll-- he couldn't understand, and it scraped dangerously close to a raw wound. He stops himself from saying anything further, as if already regretting his outburst, shame-faced.