“Ah, it is okay,” Lafayette is quick to try and reassure, touched by the melancholy that wraps itself beautifully around her words.In a way, he feels he has found a kindred spirit in this stranger, and he cannot help but be drawn to her. It is the first time, since arriving upon the islands, that he has truly felt connected to anyone save his sister.

“Even if it is not easy...” the roan male speaks softly, pausing a moment to acknowledge her words, and how she feels, rather than offering a solution outright. He does not understand, still, what exactly troubles her, and he is all too aware (painfully so - it needles at his heart incessantly, ever seeking to pierce more deeply so as to draw blood) that he is helpless and hopeless. And the words he’d spoken only moments ring in his ears, mocking, but still, he denies them, rebels against his own incapability. “I would still like to try to ‘elp you, if you would allow it.”

And she mentions a name, Cain, and he wonders about the soul to whom the name belongs, tries to discern the significance of this one, and what they mean to the mare standing before him. (But he knows so very little, truly understands even less, and he cannot help but be distracted by the other that was mentioned, but not yet named, and the way it sounded ominous, the disjointedness of the words that the sad, spotted stranger had strung together.)

He mulls over his thoughts hastily, the turbulence of them making it far more trickier than it needed to be. They run like a river, so that Lafayette has to chase them down, and it leaves him feeling mentally exhausted. “This... Cain,” he begins, his voice careful and tight, as though he is afraid of crossing any unseen lines drawn in the sand. “If ‘e can, maybe ‘e will prevail the next time. Please, do not let go of ‘ope.”

You should go, she says, and his heart drops in his chest. But it is not a dismissal, nor a rejection, but a warning. If Rougaru finds you… Lafayette cannot help the fear that rises in his throat, instinctive, stirred up by the dread he sensed in the mare. It seemed to strangle her too, cutting off her words, when all Lafayette wanted was for her to continue speaking, to say something light and absurd, like maybe how oddly his tongue shapes the words that sound like a symphony when they fell from her tawny lips. If only so that he’ll have a moment of joy to think back on when it comes time for them to part ways, him to find Ghislaine, and her to wait for her Cain. (So that he can treasure the sound of her sweet laughter, and not only be tormented by her troubles.)

But her voice is silenced, and so Lafayette forces his own words out, breaking the stillness that seems to hold them both prisoner.

“I do not care if ‘e finds me, this, ah, Rougaru.” It is not even a half-truth, and the tremble in his voice betrays him. But Lafayette stands his ground, burdened by a sudden weight of emotion (his longing to be with Ghislaine again, and a sense of empathy so deep he could drown in it) that bleeds into the words that leave his mouth as little more than a ragged whisper. “I will not leave you - ‘Ow can I leave you to face ‘im alone, knowing ‘e is one that makes you afraid?”