Ouroboros Spine or in the temple of absent gods

He had nothing to say about his heart and mind. Or perhaps it was that he had much to say, but no easy way to express it. His fear had turned to acceptance, and his uncertainty into resignation. He had an idea that there was a woman out there who could change this — but he was embarrassed to admit such a thing to a stranger, moonwoman or not. He had not said as much even to Dutch.

A smile touched his eyes when she spoke of sunshine people and seal hunters. It seemed as though she'd found a place she could love nearly as well — or some measure of peace, at the very least. Valiant liked to meet people who seemed settled and fulfilled. It made him not hopeful, perhaps, but satisfied. It proved that it was possible, and that knowledge often felt like enough.

But this warmth fell slowly away as she spoke of fear and love. He did not enjoy being proselytized to, but this was not the source of his solemnity; he thought that someone called moonwoman had a right to speak on these things, and he was not too proud to listen. Rather, he found it difficult to listen to tales of loss, and to see such things reflected outside of himself. It was a pain that he had boxed up and hidden away as a child, and seeing it in others sometimes made him feel as if someone was riffling through his most personal, private possessions.

"I'm sorry for your loss," he said — and he meant it! But the words rang hollow even to him. What did sorry change? "I'm glad that you had him. And that you were able to build this."

This, the moon villages at large.

"You've touched a lotta lives, seems like," he said.

His tongue felt heavy. Clumsy. He was not sure that he wanted his life touched, except for the part where he wanted it more than anything.