CHULANE
why do things happen with no reason or rhyme?
why does it feel like we're running out of time?
why does it feel like we're running out of time?
"I'll be there," he confirmed to the healer, even if he didn't quite feel it. He knew that once the grief settled, once he felt more normal, he would find his interest in healing, in contributing to the community again. He'd work on building the farm still - he'd investigate Whitebrim, and he'd begin his plan to rehabilitate those threatened with exile for their actions. He had so much to do, so much to keep himself busy with… and yet it all felt for naught in his current numbed state, even if an entire region would benefit from it.
As Loren kept talking, Chulane found himself distracted, pulled away from his dreary introspection - so when the healer apologised, he let a frown tug at his expression, and shook his head. "Don't… it's okay," he said, shrugging. "I mean… nothing is okay, nothing will ever be the same," he sighed, running a hand through his hair, unintentionally mimicking what the healer had just done. "'Normal' conversation is okay," he wanted to clarify, even though nothing about what Loren had begun talking about was normal to Chuy.
Besides, talk of gods would almost always work to pique his interest.
"What did Frey say?" he gently probed, sipping again at his tea, doing whatever he could to focus on this moment - he was the one who'd asked Loren for his next steps, the least he could do was engage when he got answers (even if he couldn't provide much aside from exhausted moral support).
As Loren kept talking, Chulane found himself distracted, pulled away from his dreary introspection - so when the healer apologised, he let a frown tug at his expression, and shook his head. "Don't… it's okay," he said, shrugging. "I mean… nothing is okay, nothing will ever be the same," he sighed, running a hand through his hair, unintentionally mimicking what the healer had just done. "'Normal' conversation is okay," he wanted to clarify, even though nothing about what Loren had begun talking about was normal to Chuy.
Besides, talk of gods would almost always work to pique his interest.
"What did Frey say?" he gently probed, sipping again at his tea, doing whatever he could to focus on this moment - he was the one who'd asked Loren for his next steps, the least he could do was engage when he got answers (even if he couldn't provide much aside from exhausted moral support).
how do we keep going, through the dark?
why are we here at all, lost in the dark?
why are we here at all, lost in the dark?
