Meadow

He is solemn, saddened almost, as he must remind her that he was only a cast-off of a greater has-been that lingered like a shadow over all his behaviors. He does not feel the sadness over the loss anymore, only that he had to tell this particular Lady that he was less-than. He already felt it true enough, but to speak it aloud to Ylva was a different kind of shame. His name might not cause the feeling any longer, thanks to her, but the memories would not allow themselves to be so easily repainted or painted over.

He explains to her, tells her then of what she has done in allowing him to become greater through living beside her. Greater in all things, he things. Greater in kindness, in understanding, in patience, in love. He had lost all goal and purpose and she had become the armorers wheel. Protecting her honed his fighting skills, looking after her honed his senses, keeping watch over her son gave him patience, lingering in her presence in utter contentment without expectation honed his love. What more could a exile beg of anyone but to be made greater simply by their presence?

His black body shifts as he angles closer to her, stepping up so that he is only a few steps from being side by side with her. She is quiet during his musings, the monologue gone on long enough by the time he can bear to ask her if he were such a burden for her to try and ask him to find better use elsewhere.

Her reaction to the question is to turn to him with a brilliant warmth he had no protection from - blinding him from all else around them in preference for the sight of her looking on him with such feeling in her countenance. It is overwhelming, even just that look of affection, and he feels the great bulk of his heart stutter in it’s hammering rhythm - and then it took off with such speed and such heavy earnest that one could almost see the flesh of his chest tremoring with each beat. "You are no burden, Errant." Her head shakes, her forelock with it, denying his assumption and almost sending his ears to ringing by merely hearing the words.

"I did not mean to give you that impression, only that sometimes… Sometimes I wonder if this life of mine is one worth living. If I cannot even be certain of that, how can I ask another to live it alongside me?" He nods, her question fading. "As you know, I feel similarly when confronted with an idle future… but it pains me to hear you doubt the worth of your very existence." He looks aside a moment, trying to wrestle with the elation of one moment while in contention with the sentiment she had followed it with.

"You say you don’t know if you could ever give yourself to another herd again. For so long, I have felt the same, but with Runar nearly grown… When I said you have been good for me, Errant, I meant it. I think I see, now, that I probably never should have isolated myself in such a manner, at least not for so long. It was no life to choose for anyone, least of all myself or my son, who has known nothing different."

He notes in her seeking of his eyes, which he willingly succumbs to that purpose, a gleam of even greater feeling - a yearning question that she voices with gravity in her whole being. "If I were to find a new home - a real one - would that mean we had to part, Errant?"

His eyes soften and brighten both at once, warmed to his core by the implication of permanence residing between the letters that formed the question. "I said I would never give of myself to a land or herd, but not that I would never give of myself to a person." He steps towards her with intent, so blatant in his eyes and posture and motion that it gave her ample excuse and time to adjust herself away from him. His voice drops then, a whispering rumble as if the sky only hinted at the dream of a storm across the horizon, "With you, I am always home."