( he knows what it's like to be bereft of somethin' so deeply and functionally you that it's like missin' a limb. ghosts are a sense of peace an' calm to him, a little bit of quiet in the shock an' awe of war. havin' that torn away is an unkind thing to bear.
he imagines it ain't any different for her. light holds back the darkness, an' given the place they're all gathered in that's bound to trouble her. his brow is furrowed a mite in sympathy, but the moment she does her spell it fades off.
his earliest memory's of a barnstormer up in montgomery. watchin' planes tip on their sides an' near kiss the dirt of the flatland fields, an' then soar up on in the sky instilled in him a deep an' abidin' love of the open air. half the reason he became a paratrooper, right there. but it's that same look then as now on his face. somethin' effusive. pure joy.
he doesn't move to wave his hands through them or anythin' so overt, but he does reach down to touch the curve of a petal, an' he's still smilin' when there's no substance to it. )
How about that.
( she may as well have caught a falling star in the cup of her hands, for his amazement. )
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he imagines it ain't any different for her. light holds back the darkness, an' given the place they're all gathered in that's bound to trouble her. his brow is furrowed a mite in sympathy, but the moment she does her spell it fades off.
his earliest memory's of a barnstormer up in montgomery. watchin' planes tip on their sides an' near kiss the dirt of the flatland fields, an' then soar up on in the sky instilled in him a deep an' abidin' love of the open air. half the reason he became a paratrooper, right there. but it's that same look then as now on his face. somethin' effusive. pure joy.
he doesn't move to wave his hands through them or anythin' so overt, but he does reach down to touch the curve of a petal, an' he's still smilin' when there's no substance to it. )
How about that.
( she may as well have caught a falling star in the cup of her hands, for his amazement. )