The boy, the Mortalborn observed, was still astonishingly rude and ignorant and spoke before he thought, but at least he wasn’t shouting anymore which he considered to be quite a bit of progress. He wasn’t sure whether said progress would be permanent though. In the past Sintih had proven himself to be surprisingly resistant to any kind of change.
While Sintih stood up, the Mortalborn remained seated. He wasn’t the kind of man that foolishly insisted on proving how strong he was when he was in truth in quite a bit of pain. He had never found such an attitude to be particularly helpful. If you exerted yourself again too soon it would only lead to more pain and a longer recovery period. He kept his back straight though, and as he spoke, his voice was firm and calm and clear.
Unlike Sintih he would not allow himself to lose his composure, at least not anymore.
“You are right of course. I was only there for a trial, but I knew your mother much longer than that. We were already friends before you were born. Besides, I had a family as well once. In fact my sire still lives. I know how many boys strive to be like their fathers because they want them to be proud. I used to be like that as well once. I always did what I thought would make him happy, but in time I realized that I needed to become my own person if I truly wanted to excel and make myself happy.”
When he had been younger, he had vowed to protect those that were weaker than him, to uphold the peace and do what most would consider good and just, but he had found that there were far too many people that didn’t really want help, that gratitude was a rare occurrence and that the so called good people were sometimes worse than those they fought and full of lies.
He had dedicated his life to the pursuit of knowledge and the study of human nature then - and the preservation of memories for memories were the only thing that remained after a person was gone.
“I do not expect you to imitate anybody”, he replied. Had Sintih been a random stranger, he would not have cared much and might already have given up, but he was Beira’s son, and he had made a promise to her. Besides, the things he had seen in the boy’s memories had given him reason to think. “If you imitate somebody, you will never be anything but a bad copy of them. I expect you to be yourself. I want you to think about what you personally are good at and what you want from life.”
It took him all his self-control not to slap the boy as he accused him of trying to steal his mother again, although there had been a time when he had seriously considered doing such a thing. Beira was still alive, after a fashion. She might hear about their meeting. He didn’t want her to think ill of him, even after everything that had happened between them. So he simply said, “No, there was nobody else. Your mother was exceptional.”
As Sintih put his sword back, he followed him so that he could help him in case he started to feel faint. “Will you need somebody to accompany you home?” he asked somewhat reluctantly. He was not too keen on more insults and angry outbursts, but he would never forgive himself if Beira’s son had another breakdown in the middle of the street, and he wasn’t there to help.
While Sintih stood up, the Mortalborn remained seated. He wasn’t the kind of man that foolishly insisted on proving how strong he was when he was in truth in quite a bit of pain. He had never found such an attitude to be particularly helpful. If you exerted yourself again too soon it would only lead to more pain and a longer recovery period. He kept his back straight though, and as he spoke, his voice was firm and calm and clear.
Unlike Sintih he would not allow himself to lose his composure, at least not anymore.
“You are right of course. I was only there for a trial, but I knew your mother much longer than that. We were already friends before you were born. Besides, I had a family as well once. In fact my sire still lives. I know how many boys strive to be like their fathers because they want them to be proud. I used to be like that as well once. I always did what I thought would make him happy, but in time I realized that I needed to become my own person if I truly wanted to excel and make myself happy.”
When he had been younger, he had vowed to protect those that were weaker than him, to uphold the peace and do what most would consider good and just, but he had found that there were far too many people that didn’t really want help, that gratitude was a rare occurrence and that the so called good people were sometimes worse than those they fought and full of lies.
He had dedicated his life to the pursuit of knowledge and the study of human nature then - and the preservation of memories for memories were the only thing that remained after a person was gone.
“I do not expect you to imitate anybody”, he replied. Had Sintih been a random stranger, he would not have cared much and might already have given up, but he was Beira’s son, and he had made a promise to her. Besides, the things he had seen in the boy’s memories had given him reason to think. “If you imitate somebody, you will never be anything but a bad copy of them. I expect you to be yourself. I want you to think about what you personally are good at and what you want from life.”
It took him all his self-control not to slap the boy as he accused him of trying to steal his mother again, although there had been a time when he had seriously considered doing such a thing. Beira was still alive, after a fashion. She might hear about their meeting. He didn’t want her to think ill of him, even after everything that had happened between them. So he simply said, “No, there was nobody else. Your mother was exceptional.”
As Sintih put his sword back, he followed him so that he could help him in case he started to feel faint. “Will you need somebody to accompany you home?” he asked somewhat reluctantly. He was not too keen on more insults and angry outbursts, but he would never forgive himself if Beira’s son had another breakdown in the middle of the street, and he wasn’t there to help.
