[He doesn't bother to explain why. Even at that point, as selfish as he was, he was a little attached to them. He didn't want to leave those three to be tortured and sold. And he struggled too much to contemplate leaving Nott behind; as much as she claimed she would go with him, he knows she didn't want that.]
But I'd been alone for a long time. I was alone, and then I had Nott, and then I had the rest of you, but I was still alone. I didn't know how to be anything else. I could travel alongside people who would keep me from starving and keep bandits off of me, but I didn't know how to be part of it.
It's different, now. And I don't. . . I don't want to lose any of you. And you count in that.
All that really matters then. What you did, not what you thought about.
[It isn't as if he hadn't thought about leaving himself. It's why the story about the fact that he did made enough sense that he told himself he could believe it. But he hated it. He fucking hated the idea he'd leave, after all of that. How that was the moment he himself had decided, no, I'm sticking with this lot. I like them. The idea of it falling apart after that was hard to swallow.
He sort of unwinds from his place a bit, uncrossing his arms and leaning foward, sticking out a hand - the one with the red eyes on it.]
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no subject
[He doesn't bother to explain why. Even at that point, as selfish as he was, he was a little attached to them. He didn't want to leave those three to be tortured and sold. And he struggled too much to contemplate leaving Nott behind; as much as she claimed she would go with him, he knows she didn't want that.]
But I'd been alone for a long time. I was alone, and then I had Nott, and then I had the rest of you, but I was still alone. I didn't know how to be anything else. I could travel alongside people who would keep me from starving and keep bandits off of me, but I didn't know how to be part of it.
It's different, now. And I don't. . . I don't want to lose any of you. And you count in that.
no subject
[It isn't as if he hadn't thought about leaving himself. It's why the story about the fact that he did made enough sense that he told himself he could believe it. But he hated it. He fucking hated the idea he'd leave, after all of that. How that was the moment he himself had decided, no, I'm sticking with this lot. I like them. The idea of it falling apart after that was hard to swallow.
He sort of unwinds from his place a bit, uncrossing his arms and leaning foward, sticking out a hand - the one with the red eyes on it.]
To sticking together, then.
no subject
Sticking together. No rushing off to get hurt.