[Ah. Even a Bond, it seems, can't entirely prevent errors of interpretation. Myr ducks his head--relieved, a little chagrined--to hear L's clarification.]
I mistook you, then; forgive me.
[The odds ranged against them have not changed, but there is something to be said for the assurance they are on the same side. It clears the gloom of self-recrimination from Myr's side of the Bond, like a cloud fleeing before the sun; terrible habit, that, but one he can function around.
Goals and hopes aligning, of course, does not mean their beliefs must; and Myr listens with patient sympathy to L's unpacking his two sorts of faith. He's silent even after his Bonded's made an end of speaking, rolling the ball of soap between his palms as he turns thoughts over in his mind.]
Deducing back beyond living memory relies on the patterns we see here and now being fixed, [he begins slowly, after a due space of thought. Such is his trust in and comfort with L that he is willing to think other than quickly, not seizing on the first answer and extemporizing when needs must. This should be correct all the way through.
He can do no less than that to honor his friend entrusting a fear to him.] And so far as that concerns the sun and the constant stars, we're not apt to err. They, after all, haven't any choice but to do as the Maker Made them; some catastrophe might tear them from their place, but they can't of themselves choose to leave it.
Mortals, on the other hand-- [Now that he's built up a sufficient lather he reaches out, feeling for L's hair. Washing it's a chance to see what he can do for the edges of that hangover--and an opportunity to touch. For a moment he'll rest his hands oh, so lightly on L's head, black strands tangled through his fingers. ] --tell me if you'd rather I not do this, will you? --Mortals, for all we're prone to becoming fixed in our own arcs, always have the freedom to alter them. And we're far easier to persuade or coerce than sunrise; neither Niles nor Mello seems much preoccupied with the idea they might not be able to bend us to their wills.
Better, though, [more just, more moral, more loving,] to make space wherein choice and change become possible. To tell someone he isn't bound to the pattern life has pressed into him--and show him the way beyond it. It's hardly faith absolute to have that hope of everyone; we're all capable of it. Though, [and here his voice turns wry,] many people take a lot of convincing.
[A fond skitch of fingers against L's scalp punctuates the comment.] And many others need a change in circumstances [Mello,] that's harder to provide.
[More softly, then,] Those who'd hurt or kill you outright can be fought. I know how to win those battles. [Even if right now he lacks the means to do so.]
How might I help you choose something other than oblivion?
[There undoubtedly many other elements to that fear of failing that they will get to in due time--
no subject
I mistook you, then; forgive me.
[The odds ranged against them have not changed, but there is something to be said for the assurance they are on the same side. It clears the gloom of self-recrimination from Myr's side of the Bond, like a cloud fleeing before the sun; terrible habit, that, but one he can function around.
Goals and hopes aligning, of course, does not mean their beliefs must; and Myr listens with patient sympathy to L's unpacking his two sorts of faith. He's silent even after his Bonded's made an end of speaking, rolling the ball of soap between his palms as he turns thoughts over in his mind.]
Deducing back beyond living memory relies on the patterns we see here and now being fixed, [he begins slowly, after a due space of thought. Such is his trust in and comfort with L that he is willing to think other than quickly, not seizing on the first answer and extemporizing when needs must. This should be correct all the way through.
He can do no less than that to honor his friend entrusting a fear to him.] And so far as that concerns the sun and the constant stars, we're not apt to err. They, after all, haven't any choice but to do as the Maker Made them; some catastrophe might tear them from their place, but they can't of themselves choose to leave it.
Mortals, on the other hand-- [Now that he's built up a sufficient lather he reaches out, feeling for L's hair. Washing it's a chance to see what he can do for the edges of that hangover--and an opportunity to touch. For a moment he'll rest his hands oh, so lightly on L's head, black strands tangled through his fingers. ] --tell me if you'd rather I not do this, will you? --Mortals, for all we're prone to becoming fixed in our own arcs, always have the freedom to alter them. And we're far easier to persuade or coerce than sunrise; neither Niles nor Mello seems much preoccupied with the idea they might not be able to bend us to their wills.
Better, though, [more just, more moral, more loving,] to make space wherein choice and change become possible. To tell someone he isn't bound to the pattern life has pressed into him--and show him the way beyond it. It's hardly faith absolute to have that hope of everyone; we're all capable of it. Though, [and here his voice turns wry,] many people take a lot of convincing.
[A fond skitch of fingers against L's scalp punctuates the comment.] And many others need a change in circumstances [Mello,] that's harder to provide.
[More softly, then,] Those who'd hurt or kill you outright can be fought. I know how to win those battles. [Even if right now he lacks the means to do so.]
How might I help you choose something other than oblivion?
[There undoubtedly many other elements to that fear of failing that they will get to in due time--
But this is top of mind.]