Though he rarely meant to cause pain, there were times it was unavoidable, even if by accident. Perhaps, if he were lucky, it would be the pain of a bone being reset so it could heal straight again. Not without a scar, but not without some catharsis, either.
If he were not, he would only make things worse. Reason enough to be cautious in his approach and in his words to the young man who sat bleeding beside him, both outside and in.
The question was as unexpected as it was trembling, and Hadama did not rush to answer. He created his ice and he considered his reply with all the gravitas and seriousness that he took with planning Torchline's defenses.
The question that followed was even more surprising, and as Jude curled into himself Hadama watched and then turned his gaze out to the ocean to note the swells that raced farther up the beach than they ever had before. Time, and tide, and change...
"Do you remember," he began, his words slow with the weight of one man's world balancing on them, "when we built a bridge together in the Greatwood?" He could not create illusions or dreams, but between them a trickle of water began to flow, snaking across the sand. And as Hadama looked down a bridge of ice began to grow, spanning the tiny rivulet in slow arcs. "You are your mother's son. And your father's. But most of all, you are Jude. And you would be worth knowing if your parents were the humblest farmers in the Hollowed Grounds."
He raised his head again, and his emerald eyes were clear and calmly certain as he considered the young man with the blackened eye. "Do you think your father is perfect?"
If he were not, he would only make things worse. Reason enough to be cautious in his approach and in his words to the young man who sat bleeding beside him, both outside and in.
The question was as unexpected as it was trembling, and Hadama did not rush to answer. He created his ice and he considered his reply with all the gravitas and seriousness that he took with planning Torchline's defenses.
The question that followed was even more surprising, and as Jude curled into himself Hadama watched and then turned his gaze out to the ocean to note the swells that raced farther up the beach than they ever had before. Time, and tide, and change...
"Do you remember," he began, his words slow with the weight of one man's world balancing on them, "when we built a bridge together in the Greatwood?" He could not create illusions or dreams, but between them a trickle of water began to flow, snaking across the sand. And as Hadama looked down a bridge of ice began to grow, spanning the tiny rivulet in slow arcs. "You are your mother's son. And your father's. But most of all, you are Jude. And you would be worth knowing if your parents were the humblest farmers in the Hollowed Grounds."
He raised his head again, and his emerald eyes were clear and calmly certain as he considered the young man with the blackened eye. "Do you think your father is perfect?"
