60: Companions

Torren and Samira have an honest conversation with one another where the right words are hard to come by.

Last we left off…

Torren and Maëdris posted up along the wall outside of the mail center of Crossgate. They ponder the nature of patience, and what it takes to deal with someone like Secar—a man who likes to linger.

Inevitably, the conversation turns to Samira and her self-exclusion from the group earlier in the day. Torren acknowledges that he carries awareness of what Samira might be feeling, but ‘doesn’t want to make assumptions.'

Maëdris huffs, claiming that making assumptions in this case is fair. The connection between them is clear; and whatever is holding Torren back isn’t serving either of them.

As with all things though, what *is* putting blocks up for Torren is something that is not so simple to reconcile. However, he does conceded that the reticence he feels is not purposeful. Not anymore.

Maëdris beckons him to move on, or move forward. Staying stationary with Samira will only damage them both.

Torren

I kneel to pet the dog, their scruffy tail and grayed coat rustling in the breeze. Pointed ears and a wispy muzzle nuzzle into my hand as they pant and whine.

“Aw you’re such a good boy, aren’t you. Aren’t you? And stinky. You’re a stinky, messy boy,” I say to them with an inflection in my tone.

Secar scoffs, “You and your dogs, Torren. It’s a stray.”

“Even more reason he needs a little bit of love,” I say, gently pressing the dog’s face away as they lick my own.

“That cannot be sanitary,” the elder grumbles.

“Oh, live a little, old man,” I snark back to him.

“I intend to, by not infecting myself with whatever refuse lingers on the mouth of that mutt.”

“I’ll side with Torr on this one,” chirps Maëdris, who leans down next to me to pat the dog’s hindquarters.

Our new friend dances around in a circle, overstimulated from the attention.