Moonspear hear me, hear me brother

Desdemona's response was stoic and stern. Atlas felt like he should have anticipated that from her; she had been the dutiful type since the day he had met her. The dark woman did not seem to be bothered by the conversation that they had shared, but he could not help but fret over the idea that his concerns were trivial when compared to the larger picture. Did she think that he was being foolish? Did she think that his youth was showing in that moment? 

As she admitted her own worry, Atlas furrowed his brow and glanced toward her questioningly. He would not have considered her to be the type to worry over loss. This was unfair, he realized; Desdemona was just like anyone else in their ranks. She had aspirations and hopes, she had experienced her own feelings and loves. The shade felt as though he had been inconsiderate to her. 

How do you not think about it all the time?