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Now it is his turn to shield the emotions from his eyes. Wishbone lets him pull away from her side, and her eyes open to watch what fragments of Svedka’s face she can see. As he tells his story, she remains quiet and peaceful. Their hearts are pulled closer together through their shared experiences, knotted into a tangled heap that bonds their kindred spirits even tighter than before.
She tries to picture his reality by putting herself in his place. Her brows draw together at the thought of having something that is a piece of him (however much he might’ve disliked it) darken into a creature of pain and death. Yet surprisingly, she realizes she knows the feeling well. Ivar had been a part of her — the one to coax womanhood from its dormancy and the one to father her children — yet he had drowned her in the Ischian sea, filling her lungs with seawater and letting her fade into nothing.
Wishbone wonders if her brother can feel the same anger that burns in her. Does he awaken from those nightmares and crave revenge? Would Svedka ever take the shadows that darken his eyes to fold them into something that can be used as a tool that might liberate him from the shackles Carnage has clamped to his ankles? She has felt these thoughts spark in her mind on many occasions, and even now a fire begins to brighten the cavity of her chest, warming her insides with a ferocity that sometimes she cannot contain.
When he finishes (and that optimism sparkles in his eyes, something they share in common), Wishbone steps close and presses her dark side against his paler one. She takes comfort in their touch, in the knowledge that they have both fought through the darkness and came out on the other side, in the way he feels real and alive just as she is. “We are warriors,” she says with a soft smile. “We have been through death and life, but we’re still here. We’re still alive.” No matter how tattered or worn or dark they may feel, their lungs still breathe and their hearts still beat. “It feels good to tell someone else. I can’t explain why I look different, but I’m so thankful you know about my death and my daughters.” Wishbone touches her muzzle to her brother’s broad cheek, hoping her relief and gratefulness may soak into his skin so he can feel it lingering there even after they part ways for the evening.
@[Svedka]