[Oh. He's poking a wee bit of fun at her. Her rising urge to protest dies down, though it doesn't seem to do away with the little flutters that riddle her insides. She's often like that. Worried about saying the wrong thing. Sometimes feeling she must justify or defend the things she says or does when such things are genuinely unnecessary. The amount of time that she spends worrying must be laughable to the objective eye. At least Ara has the kindness not to poke and prod at her overmuch where such things are concerned.
The rest of their journey is mostly quiet on her end until they arrive. At the cliff's edge, she's careful not to get too close, taking the time to simply look. Some would look at the trees, tangled and seemingly misshapen, as something perhaps bizarre and otherworldly, even. She doesn't. To her there's a beauty in it. A very sad kind of beauty, perhaps. She isn't quite sure what she feels. Maybe that sometimes her insides reflect a likeness in that growth. It is around the time that her gaze lingers on the willow that his words catch her attention.
She watches him sit, careful to remain as she is, clawed hands folded together as she listens to what he has to share. Somehow she's not surprised that he has a more profound reason for bringing her here. It's something she can appreciate, though she suspects she would have liked the view just on its own. She would like to think she isn't excessively complicated, though that might not necessarily be true.
Her head tilts and she understands that he is right. Not only that these trees below them have seen far more than she ever has, but also that they'll continue to see things after she is long dearly departed. His question, however, does bring her pause. Are her thoughts insurmountable? They certainly feel it at times. Feeling, however, is not the same thing as the reality of the situation.]
...I think the comparison might be a touch unfair. [She finally responds after having given him what she feels is due consideration and respect, in light of what he means to convey.] I couldn't dare to put myself beside trees that have seen and will continue to see far more than I ever hope to. Perhaps they, their collective, have at times wondered of their adversities. Of their livelihood. I don't think that makes their thoughts, their concerns, any greater or less than mine. Or yours. Or anyone else's.
[After a pause, she wonders how to put it. She's so very not good with her words. She feels foolish even trying to have this conversation.]
Insurmountable? I don't know that I would it like that. I simply have concerns. Just as anyone else does. I don't think the future is very certain at all. Or perhaps, I fear that it isn't.
[That's probably more accurate. It's not that she thinks she can't or won't overcome. It's that she has no idea what to expect. She can't plan for it. She's afraid of that unknown.]
Beautiful words are always worth the wait.
[Oh. He's poking a wee bit of fun at her. Her rising urge to protest dies down, though it doesn't seem to do away with the little flutters that riddle her insides. She's often like that. Worried about saying the wrong thing. Sometimes feeling she must justify or defend the things she says or does when such things are genuinely unnecessary. The amount of time that she spends worrying must be laughable to the objective eye. At least Ara has the kindness not to poke and prod at her overmuch where such things are concerned.
The rest of their journey is mostly quiet on her end until they arrive. At the cliff's edge, she's careful not to get too close, taking the time to simply look. Some would look at the trees, tangled and seemingly misshapen, as something perhaps bizarre and otherworldly, even. She doesn't. To her there's a beauty in it. A very sad kind of beauty, perhaps. She isn't quite sure what she feels. Maybe that sometimes her insides reflect a likeness in that growth. It is around the time that her gaze lingers on the willow that his words catch her attention.
She watches him sit, careful to remain as she is, clawed hands folded together as she listens to what he has to share. Somehow she's not surprised that he has a more profound reason for bringing her here. It's something she can appreciate, though she suspects she would have liked the view just on its own. She would like to think she isn't excessively complicated, though that might not necessarily be true.
Her head tilts and she understands that he is right. Not only that these trees below them have seen far more than she ever has, but also that they'll continue to see things after she is long dearly departed. His question, however, does bring her pause. Are her thoughts insurmountable? They certainly feel it at times. Feeling, however, is not the same thing as the reality of the situation.]
...I think the comparison might be a touch unfair. [She finally responds after having given him what she feels is due consideration and respect, in light of what he means to convey.] I couldn't dare to put myself beside trees that have seen and will continue to see far more than I ever hope to. Perhaps they, their collective, have at times wondered of their adversities. Of their livelihood. I don't think that makes their thoughts, their concerns, any greater or less than mine. Or yours. Or anyone else's.
[After a pause, she wonders how to put it. She's so very not good with her words. She feels foolish even trying to have this conversation.]
Insurmountable? I don't know that I would it like that. I simply have concerns. Just as anyone else does. I don't think the future is very certain at all. Or perhaps, I fear that it isn't.
[That's probably more accurate. It's not that she thinks she can't or won't overcome. It's that she has no idea what to expect. She can't plan for it. She's afraid of that unknown.]