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Part of him feels bad for having put her on the defensive; the day could have easily gone a different way had he been softer when she had simply demanded he reveal himself. He did not have to snap the way he had. He did not need to bite at her from the get-go—driving a wedge between them before a second had passed. So part of him feels a twinge of guilt for the sharpness in the set of her mouth, in the inclination of her jaw as she challenges him with her gaze—guilt that he had placed that in her.
But Tobiah has never been particularly good with apologies so he does not start now. Instead he shifts, feathers rustling as his sides as he tries to get himself into a more comfortable stance. When she fires back the question at him, he fights that urge to snarl back, knowing that to do so would only drag them further into the muck. Anger was as dangerously close to love as affection; he couldn’t risk either strong emotion.
So, he yields to the question, giving her the rare courtesy of honesty. “I never really had the choice,” he says bluntly, pulling back the veil slightly on a history he usually left concealed. “I left my mother at a young age and never spent much time around anyone after that.” She had been a fine mother, but he had longed to see the brotherhood his father had ruled over; he had longed to see the land of ice and solitude. The thought to it had struck a chord in his young heart, and he had answered the call.
The fact that he had never risen to more, never even taking the pledge, did not overly bother him.
“I bet my excellent conversation skills conceal my lone lifestyle well,” he jokes, one corner of his mouth lifting into a quick flash of a smile before dropping again, leaving his face somber and neutral once more.
tobiah