Noctisardor Bypass Don't need additional lives.

Anselm's composure lasted him just long enough to be out of Heda or Etienne's earshot -- and then, for the first time in a long time, he cried.

There was nothing cathartic or manly about it; no sweet release from the choking snot that cloyed his nostrils, or the ugly way his throat seized and muzzle twisted. He looked hideous -- and he felt it.

Shortly thereafter Anselm gradually steadied himself, wiping the dampness from his eyes.

Still, he could not stop replaying all that Etienne said. It made him shrivel inside to learn Etienne had been hurting alongside him all this time, and he had added fuel to it. He hated himself worse now, for knowing he'd caused the seaborn deep strife -- and worse, refused to acknowledge or apologize for it.

I'm hurting too, he grit between his teeth. Everyone was. He vacillated between deep empathy for Etienne (including soul-crushing guilt) and a strange species of survivor's outrage  -- at last settling on an exhausted apathy as he climbed a deerpath.

Suddenly, he found himself standing in front of the Grandfather tree. His lips twisted as he stared at it, laughing bitterly to himself. Not Grandfather -- Sequoia.

For the first time in his life, he almost sympathized with his parents and wondered if this kind of emotional conflict was what drove them away.