Zeke had noticed that, as well. But it seemed wrong to say something so harsh, even when the young woman beside him was doing much the same (if more tastefully). Not that he had any reason to expect any less from the country. Maybe he was only one day into his stay in Licia, but his father had made sure to prepare him for how merciless the citizens could be—particularly toward anyone different like him, a half-breed with a less-than-favorable family reputation.
He hadn’t known her very long, didn’t even know her name, but understood her words completely. It was suffocating: the constant scrutiny, the expectations, and the inevitable disappointment in one’s peers. Zeke could have remarked upon it, but her laugh was a reprieve more than just a little appreciated. Still, something about the mental image saddened him. It really was lovely: the idea of a young, strong tree growing beside and providing shelter for a delicate flower.
But the tree would live and live and live long after the flower, his one faithful companion, had withered. And then he’d be all alone, until he rotted away slowly from the inside. Even then, he’d still be standing—empty, a shadow of himself, nobody to notice he was gone. It made Zeke think of his Grandfather.
“Lovely,” he agreed, though more quietly, under his breath, “if not a little lonely.”
Zeke curled his knees up to his chin and watched as she fell to the ground and stared up into the clear, twinkling sky above them. He looked, too, rolling his eyes upward. Miles upon miles away, his family was under the same sky. “Sort of,” he admitted in response. “I’ve always wanted to come here but now that I finally am…I guess it kind of puts things in perspective.”