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You're a queen and I'm a lion-heart
Apparently your buoyant personality has left quite an impression on the tree, because it picks up on the message behind your silence, even though it doesn't know you at all (or does it? Maybe it knows you entirely - maybe trees have hive minds, and all trees know everything all other trees see (feel? smell?). Maybe trees have been watching you all your life. Maybe the tree knows what exactly happened that night. It's an interesting thought. You'll have to ask some other tree sometime.) You continue to chew your lip, staring pointedly at the network of roots at the great tree's base.
The tree's remark inspires no small amount of anxiety in your breast: you hadn't really planned on confronting Isopia about any of this. Sure, it bugs you, but you're not really the confrontational type. You're too eager to please, too cowardly- you need Isopia to love you, especially now, and ever since Ma left you've desperately afraid that by putting a toe out of place, you'll drive your dearest friends away. It already happened with Mesec - you're sure you did something to upset him, too; you have a deep sense of something bad having happened, even if you can't quite remember what. You don't think about that not remembering too hard. Your mind is not ready to connect those particular dots.
Once again. Coward.
Of course, you have no inkling that Isopia is just as afraid of your rejection as you are of hers. In your inherent selfishness, you don't even consider this a possibility, because you cannot fathom the possibility of leaving her. You assume, therefore, that she is distancing you for some other reason, some fault of your own- your weakness, your stupidity, your childishness. You've always known you're childish compared to her: she grew up much faster (literally), she's a demigod, she's a Czarina. And you? You're a one-winged gimp who can't go a year without being nearly killed and still jabbers on about starwhales.
"Why talk of politics when we can talk of starwhales?"
"Because starwhales aren't important." The ground continues to hold your gaze; your face is a mask of confusion and confliction, and it's clearly a struggle for you to choose your words. But you do choose them, really choose, speaking slowly and carefully, your eyes trained on the system of roots. "I mean, starwhales are great, but they're.... they're fun. They're not real. An' friends... friends talk about fun stuff, yeah, but they also tell each other the important stuff. Like this."
Your head rises now, slightly, but you still don't meet Isopia's eyes. You've made yourself small and careful, your fear of rejection fighting the good fight against your need to make Isopia understand. Because sometimes you think she doesn't understand, doesn't understand that you need her to need you, that by hiding important things she makes you feel small. Insignificant.
Rejected.
"You don't tell me important stuff. An', I mean.... that's ok, I guess, if you don't wanna, I know I'm just a kid an' I don't know anythin' 'bout runnin' a herd or whatever, but...." And now you look up, sunbeam eyes searching for her golden ones, earnestness and pain and vulnerability and love bundled up within them and offered on a plate. "But I care about you, Iso, an' I want you to be happy. An' if something's not makin' you happy you should tell someone, 'cus you don't gotta keep it all to yourself. Or even if something is makin' you happy. Even if you don't wanna tell me. 'Cus I'm just a kid. An' I'm sure you got grown up friends to talk to about that stuff." But none who love you as much as me, your expression seems to add.
"But I want you to tell me important stuff. 'Cus the stuff that matters to you, it matters to be, too. An' I wanna help you, just like the tree said. Because.... yeah," you finish lamely, no longer looking at Isopia's face - too afraid to see the rejection you're sure must be there. Maybe if you stare at the ground you'll sink into it and disappear. Or maybe the tree will smite you and you'll be transported somewhere you can hide forever.
Or maybe you'll wake up, and realize this was all just a very confusing dream. You can hope, right?
The tree's remark inspires no small amount of anxiety in your breast: you hadn't really planned on confronting Isopia about any of this. Sure, it bugs you, but you're not really the confrontational type. You're too eager to please, too cowardly- you need Isopia to love you, especially now, and ever since Ma left you've desperately afraid that by putting a toe out of place, you'll drive your dearest friends away. It already happened with Mesec - you're sure you did something to upset him, too; you have a deep sense of something bad having happened, even if you can't quite remember what. You don't think about that not remembering too hard. Your mind is not ready to connect those particular dots.
Once again. Coward.
Of course, you have no inkling that Isopia is just as afraid of your rejection as you are of hers. In your inherent selfishness, you don't even consider this a possibility, because you cannot fathom the possibility of leaving her. You assume, therefore, that she is distancing you for some other reason, some fault of your own- your weakness, your stupidity, your childishness. You've always known you're childish compared to her: she grew up much faster (literally), she's a demigod, she's a Czarina. And you? You're a one-winged gimp who can't go a year without being nearly killed and still jabbers on about starwhales.
"Why talk of politics when we can talk of starwhales?"
"Because starwhales aren't important." The ground continues to hold your gaze; your face is a mask of confusion and confliction, and it's clearly a struggle for you to choose your words. But you do choose them, really choose, speaking slowly and carefully, your eyes trained on the system of roots. "I mean, starwhales are great, but they're.... they're fun. They're not real. An' friends... friends talk about fun stuff, yeah, but they also tell each other the important stuff. Like this."
Your head rises now, slightly, but you still don't meet Isopia's eyes. You've made yourself small and careful, your fear of rejection fighting the good fight against your need to make Isopia understand. Because sometimes you think she doesn't understand, doesn't understand that you need her to need you, that by hiding important things she makes you feel small. Insignificant.
Rejected.
"You don't tell me important stuff. An', I mean.... that's ok, I guess, if you don't wanna, I know I'm just a kid an' I don't know anythin' 'bout runnin' a herd or whatever, but...." And now you look up, sunbeam eyes searching for her golden ones, earnestness and pain and vulnerability and love bundled up within them and offered on a plate. "But I care about you, Iso, an' I want you to be happy. An' if something's not makin' you happy you should tell someone, 'cus you don't gotta keep it all to yourself. Or even if something is makin' you happy. Even if you don't wanna tell me. 'Cus I'm just a kid. An' I'm sure you got grown up friends to talk to about that stuff." But none who love you as much as me, your expression seems to add.
"But I want you to tell me important stuff. 'Cus the stuff that matters to you, it matters to be, too. An' I wanna help you, just like the tree said. Because.... yeah," you finish lamely, no longer looking at Isopia's face - too afraid to see the rejection you're sure must be there. Maybe if you stare at the ground you'll sink into it and disappear. Or maybe the tree will smite you and you'll be transported somewhere you can hide forever.
Or maybe you'll wake up, and realize this was all just a very confusing dream. You can hope, right?
