The humorless laugh that the Kelvic chuffed confirmed it. What he had hoped was not reality, what he feared was worse than Abashai imagined. Nya was broken, wounded and left to heal on her own.
She called him a fool. She was not the first. His own voice had uttered the accusation many times. Every word she spoke was true. They were essentially cursed by the actions of those pre-Valterrian lives, by the power they created together, held against them by unforgiving divinity. It was, in every visible way, an inescapable fate. Still, Abashai refused to accept it. Maybe it was the desert in him, how the dry wilderness seemed destined to remain scorched and unwelcoming, until the day of rain and the wadi's flood and all that cling to life in the desert are filled to satisfaction.
Nya finally showed some sentiment, albeit an agitated one. It was evident in the sting in her voice, the cat's rumble in her throat. Abashai found a measure of relief in the display. She had not been rendered emotionlly dead, though to shee Nya in such a state rent at him. He never shook the guilt of his part in her misery, and as often as she fought to forget it, he succumbed to it. His eyes followed her to the wash basin, seeing the frustration animated in her movements. When Nya turned and spoke again, Shai could see just how close to the surface the predator cat truly lay.
His face was stony as it turned again to the room before bowing low for a moment, pensive. Then Abashai stood and turned towards Nya. "I cannot make right what I have done, of my own will or against it. I can't deny that the course of our lives has been manipulated, that we have been slated to pay penance for seemingly eternity." He took a few steps towards Nya, his gaze still seeking her moss-green eyes. "But I am still alive in this life, we are. I am not content to hide away, to deny myself any kind of life just to avoid being their pawn. That is not living. Sure, we may do this all over when we meet our fate again. But as foolish as it seems, I can't stop trying to have a life that is mine."
Abashai turned, paced several steps away, idly picking up a long, sharpened wooden stick leaning in a corner. "My belief is that the gods did not bring us together, in the beginning, maybe even with Areesa and Jefrek. We chose to be together, not them. They have simply perpetuated what we willingly chose to fufill their plans." After examining the crude weapon, he leaned it back against the wall. "But if you do not share that belief, if you feel nothing for me, then perhaps I am wrong. I am not here to force you to do anything, consciously or not. If you wish to be left alone here, I will leave you in peace."
Abashai turned again towards Nya, coming within a couple steps of her. His human senses then caught her scent. Not of the perfumed women of the cities, who tried to cover their natural smell with fragrances. Nya smelled of musk and skin and wild plants. He had come to cherish that which others would see as...animal. "But, before you decide, I ask that you be honest with yourself, Nya. You have not only hidden from the world in here, you have hidden from yourself."
She called him a fool. She was not the first. His own voice had uttered the accusation many times. Every word she spoke was true. They were essentially cursed by the actions of those pre-Valterrian lives, by the power they created together, held against them by unforgiving divinity. It was, in every visible way, an inescapable fate. Still, Abashai refused to accept it. Maybe it was the desert in him, how the dry wilderness seemed destined to remain scorched and unwelcoming, until the day of rain and the wadi's flood and all that cling to life in the desert are filled to satisfaction.
Nya finally showed some sentiment, albeit an agitated one. It was evident in the sting in her voice, the cat's rumble in her throat. Abashai found a measure of relief in the display. She had not been rendered emotionlly dead, though to shee Nya in such a state rent at him. He never shook the guilt of his part in her misery, and as often as she fought to forget it, he succumbed to it. His eyes followed her to the wash basin, seeing the frustration animated in her movements. When Nya turned and spoke again, Shai could see just how close to the surface the predator cat truly lay.
His face was stony as it turned again to the room before bowing low for a moment, pensive. Then Abashai stood and turned towards Nya. "I cannot make right what I have done, of my own will or against it. I can't deny that the course of our lives has been manipulated, that we have been slated to pay penance for seemingly eternity." He took a few steps towards Nya, his gaze still seeking her moss-green eyes. "But I am still alive in this life, we are. I am not content to hide away, to deny myself any kind of life just to avoid being their pawn. That is not living. Sure, we may do this all over when we meet our fate again. But as foolish as it seems, I can't stop trying to have a life that is mine."
Abashai turned, paced several steps away, idly picking up a long, sharpened wooden stick leaning in a corner. "My belief is that the gods did not bring us together, in the beginning, maybe even with Areesa and Jefrek. We chose to be together, not them. They have simply perpetuated what we willingly chose to fufill their plans." After examining the crude weapon, he leaned it back against the wall. "But if you do not share that belief, if you feel nothing for me, then perhaps I am wrong. I am not here to force you to do anything, consciously or not. If you wish to be left alone here, I will leave you in peace."
Abashai turned again towards Nya, coming within a couple steps of her. His human senses then caught her scent. Not of the perfumed women of the cities, who tried to cover their natural smell with fragrances. Nya smelled of musk and skin and wild plants. He had come to cherish that which others would see as...animal. "But, before you decide, I ask that you be honest with yourself, Nya. You have not only hidden from the world in here, you have hidden from yourself."