[Though he hasn't a stag's ears any longer to set low in disbelief, Myr's expression (to say nothing of their Bond) is eloquent on how just how fine he believes L to be.
They cannot address the deeper thing, the nameless thing Myr doesn't yet have his arms around (the monstrous realization he will take to Near in all its chilling clarity once the Naga gives him an opening); it would go as well as every time Myr's tried to face Leviathan head-on, because L will not, will never let him near it. Not with his usual tactics, anyway--though a foray into the shallows might have more success.
At least, for both their sakes, he's also better composed when next he speaks.]
Take a moment, amatus. You needn't be fine all at once for me after a nasty shock like that.
[Though it is terribly tempting to ignore entirely what he had felt, not say anything at all, and progress to L's questions--to bury himself entirely in the wash of his Witch's relief--it isn't in Myr to do so. It isn't in Myr any longer; he's not a Faun, to shy and tiptoe around danger or else charge it to prove he isn't frightened.
He is a Witch now, as L says, and that wins a brief rueful laugh from him.]
So I am. And I do feel all right--largely, though everything seems duller and quieter than it had been. [A Faun's senses beat an elf's. He'd miss that.
He'd miss a lot of things about being a Monster, he realizes, and that sends its own painful note of grief twisting through their Bond. He reaches a hand in L's direction, seeking contact to quiet it.]
I'll need a Monster of my own, it seems. And I don't remember getting here, except the vaguest details, [kinder perhaps not to say which details those were that had broken through his dream,] though I did dream the whole time.
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They cannot address the deeper thing, the nameless thing Myr doesn't yet have his arms around (the monstrous realization he will take to Near in all its chilling clarity once the Naga gives him an opening); it would go as well as every time Myr's tried to face Leviathan head-on, because L will not, will never let him near it. Not with his usual tactics, anyway--though a foray into the shallows might have more success.
At least, for both their sakes, he's also better composed when next he speaks.]
Take a moment, amatus. You needn't be fine all at once for me after a nasty shock like that.
[Though it is terribly tempting to ignore entirely what he had felt, not say anything at all, and progress to L's questions--to bury himself entirely in the wash of his Witch's relief--it isn't in Myr to do so. It isn't in Myr any longer; he's not a Faun, to shy and tiptoe around danger or else charge it to prove he isn't frightened.
He is a Witch now, as L says, and that wins a brief rueful laugh from him.]
So I am. And I do feel all right--largely, though everything seems duller and quieter than it had been. [A Faun's senses beat an elf's. He'd miss that.
He'd miss a lot of things about being a Monster, he realizes, and that sends its own painful note of grief twisting through their Bond. He reaches a hand in L's direction, seeking contact to quiet it.]
I'll need a Monster of my own, it seems. And I don't remember getting here, except the vaguest details, [kinder perhaps not to say which details those were that had broken through his dream,] though I did dream the whole time.