It feels so nice to be away from town. Camp feels like home.
Sure you aren't just running away from your thoughts again?
How can I be? You never shut up.
A fair point. I'm a little quieter when you're sitting in the taverns or walking the streets, surrounded by people and noise, aye?
Aye. Try it now, why don't you?
Nay. Let's talk about the things you don't want to face. Like why you haven't seen the Viper lately. And why you feel sad about that.
I don't feel fecking sad.
What would you call it?
...I don't know.
You keep picturing him, though. And how does that make you feel?
...it feels like nothing.
Lying won't help you grow.
What do you want me to say? What does it matter what I say back to you? Feelings are pointless when they can't change anything. He's with her now. Tamed and collared and tidied up like a proper copper-bottomed gent. He'll be doffing a hat and saying "Yes, sir" and "Yes, ma'am" soon before scurrying home in time for tea.
Well, we're getting somewhere now. So, you're angry.
...I guess. I don't know. It's just not who he was meant to be. Not who he should be. He should be free. He's not a fecking candle, to be kept on a stand, trimmed and tidy and easy to carry about and snuff out when it's convenient. He's a wildfire. He should be burning down forests, not making meek little bits of light for one selfish woman to own and throw away at her whim.
Even if that means singeing unsuspecting hearts again? You know how badly that hurts.
...aye. Even if it means that. A thing has to be true to itself, whether it's a mouse or a lion.
Is she really selfish, though? They have a child together. Doesn't that child deserve a father? Is she really wicked for wanting security?
...she should have left him free from the start. Then he wouldn't be in this mess.
You'd be kinder if she were standing in front of you with her child in her arms, asking for your understanding.
Whatever.
Aye, you're jealous.
The hell I am!
You could have a family of your own, if you wanted it.
I don't want it.
He would marry you. You know he would.
Feck off with that shite.
You know, the madder you get, the more I’m right.
I knew I should’ve brought some whiskey out here. Shut you up in a hurry.
You love him, don’t you?
…
He loves you. Or it seems like he does.
...aye, I know.
So what’s the problem? He doesn’t feel dangerous enough? He isn’t broody and violent and full of trouble, like the other?
...I don’t feel like he needs me...the way Dag made me feel like he needed me…
What does that even mean? He’s clearly terribly fond of you.
Aye, but…
But…?
...I don’t feel like he’d crumble and shrivel up and die without me. He’d...be sad for a bit, and then carry on and be just fine.
So you’d want him to suffer more? Is that it? Does this sound like a healthy thing?
Oh, what the feck ever!
Do you want to be loved or not?
I guess so. I don’t know. Can we stop thinking about this now?
You know he’ll be there through anything. He’s proven it. No one has ever been there for you during your mad fits, but he has.
Maybe I don't want to be loved if I haven't earned it properly.
But then, is it love at all, if you have to earn it?
That’s it. I’m going back to town to get drunk. See how you like that.
I'll be here when you sober up.
Aye, aye, aye...
