you're a fraud and you know it
but it's too good to throw it all away
He expected his request to be met with uncertainty, reluctance, an unwillingness to follow him through thorns and knives, the claws of magic. It set the Thief's heart beating a frantic pace against his ribs at the mere thought of it, at what he could face the next morning, what might be waiting for him. Or perhaps his quest would bear no fruit, yield no reward, no promise or prospect, and he would return shameful and incomplete. Would she be willing to follow him on a wild goose chase with no guarantee of success, of safety? It was not as if the Gods had bestowed upon him a task, a mission, like the one that had been given to Lena.
It was not as if he had gleaned some message from the reflective waters of the unfrozen lake, deciphered hidden directives in the carved faces of rock that barred them in, or learned of his objective in the pattern of newly fallen snowflakes across the brittle grass. It was not by any divine intervention that he had chosen to seek magic. And because of that, perhaps he would find nothing, or perhaps everything, a solution, the final piece of a puzzle that might make him whole, might make him useful. It was thrilling, nerve wracking, and terrifying all at once, that he had finally taken the initiative to attempt something that had seemed out of reach for so long. All the agitation seething within him was soothed away by her response, given without delay, without pause. Try as he might, the Thief could not detect any hidden strains of reluctance within the soft tones of her voice, could not sense a tensing of her muscles, a betrayal of her hesitation. It was as if she wanted it, to come along with him, to help him, and it made the idea of it all the easier to swallow. "Thank you," he murmured, and hid his smile in the curve of her neck.
@[Lena]
sometimes you even fool yourself a bit
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