Northstar Vale Thánatos

When the man spoke, his voice cracked from the back of his throat. A part of him had been carved out by these events.

Arsenio wished to tell him that he was not expected to leave that place. There were no tasks or teachings that ranked higher than this loss. It stirred memories of dead soldiers and their mothers weeping over their crumpled, bloodied bodies. The Arche had never expected to revisit such thoughts. He did not expect this darkness to hang over the door of their home.

You are not expected to leave, he said softly. His eyes traced the bark of the trees. This is a peaceful place for her to rest. Arsenio wanted to offer more, to give a rallying speech of support. He did not know what might ease this thing. He did not know how he might repair his friends.

Let me bring you furs. We will build a bed for you, for Towhee, and your son. You may stay here until… he paused, thoughtful, uncertain of what he had wanted to say. For as long as you need, Maxim.

The blue of his eyes shifted to the other man. Was he holding it inside him? Was Maxim forcing himself to suffer through the tragedy in stoic silence?

Let me help to carry some of this grief, my friend. An invitation to speak, if he wished.