anyone;

[Trystane]

*****“A wild man of the brush, huh?” He grins, cocked and wily. His life has never been wholly uncomplicated. Life barely allows for it, nature certainly does not. Everything underlying is driven to equilibrium, but chaos and loss and the nature of imperfection are the conditions of the process. They are inevitable and unavoidable. Eventually, they each find a foothold. But Viera's absence had been a loss, perhaps, in the same way the absence of his father had been. Only revealing its full scope when faced with it head-on. Otherwise, the secluded way he was raised makes it easy to find comfort in solitude. A wild man of the brush. Because he hadn't thought of her in a while. *****Because he couldn't figure out whether or not he yearned for her all that much. But unlike Cerva, he never shared a womb with Viera. Nourished on the same stuff, but at different times, and under different circumstances. In that moment of uncertainly he is sad, and shameful. He thinks he can see the longing in her own face, and worries for the vacancy in his. (Viera looks like Vineine, splashed with white — a gif from the father they do not share. Trystane looks like his father.) His mother would be disappointed. *****“You got it,” He chuckles past his own self-doubt, pushing it down. It is unwelcome here, tonight. Her second question stumps him, but truly, it should not. He plays with how he can say I saw you and I knew I needed to say hello, without sounding strange. It is so simple. Utterly uncomplicated. Beating around the bush is an immense effort; being so coy exhausting, in the same way upholding the integrity of a complete lie is. A weighty endeavour, they are trying to convince one another of something that neither wants to be true — that the distance between their ribs is manageable and sustainable. “I,” He takes great pains not to stutter, “I saw you... and I thought you,” That isn't right at all, “looked like someone I had to get to know.” He flushes. *****The delivery isn't perfect... *****He grasps for recovery. “Must be hard, to be away.” It occurs to him that he hasn't seen his mother in some time. Not so long as to be a great strain, but long enough. He knows where to find her now, if need be. It will be easier, now that she is rooted (so it seems), as opposed to pollen in the air; he is still aimless, though. “They just, went their own ways, huh? Not to pry...” He watches the singularly large and bright star, the Guide. “I should. I'm afarid I wouldn't know where to start.” He wouldn't judge her, he wants to know more. “It's just too easy to do. To part ways.” His mother hadn't found it so terribly hard. “Maybe it's in us, to want to find ourselves on our own. For a time.” She wouldn't be her, here, without her family... *****Or without this separation from them. Trystane.