( He is silent for longer than he had intended, words weighted while his hand searches, absently, the pleasantly soft swell of Astrov's rump. He strokes once, then again, then trails a finger over the darling creature's spine.
Sweet thing. )
His spirit appears — wearier, at times. Worn. ( Not battered, perhaps. Not battle-tattered. But... reduced. Eroded, in the way of water-marked stones that cannot combat their own lessening.
They understand, both of them, perfectly. He is like a water-side reflection, a thinned and desaturated silhouette. Vivacious, ever jolting, lively, but... )
no subject
( He is silent for longer than he had intended, words weighted while his hand searches, absently, the pleasantly soft swell of Astrov's rump. He strokes once, then again, then trails a finger over the darling creature's spine.
Sweet thing. )
His spirit appears — wearier, at times. Worn. ( Not battered, perhaps. Not battle-tattered. But... reduced. Eroded, in the way of water-marked stones that cannot combat their own lessening.
They understand, both of them, perfectly. He is like a water-side reflection, a thinned and desaturated silhouette. Vivacious, ever jolting, lively, but... )
All men die. ( Softer: ) Even those we love.