It's so hard to say. Something rattling in his lungs and in his throat, and it's so hard to say the words through the lump in his throat.
He won't hesitate though. Darting around the subject-- maybe if he had more tact, he'd know how to do it. But he doesn't. Always, always so clumsy with his words; they flee from him like flocks of birds, so that only the heaviest ones can be caught. Can stumble through his lips.
"Najaran. Did you die in your world?" Please, no. He would pray to the Guardian Spirit he doesn't have-- but he truly, seriously hopes Najaran did not. Not in her world.
There is-- there is some good after all. In the train snapping them back before they can die here. Esteban doesn't like it, certainly resents it. But it could be far worse.
no subject
He won't hesitate though. Darting around the subject-- maybe if he had more tact, he'd know how to do it. But he doesn't. Always, always so clumsy with his words; they flee from him like flocks of birds, so that only the heaviest ones can be caught. Can stumble through his lips.
"Najaran. Did you die in your world?" Please, no. He would pray to the Guardian Spirit he doesn't have-- but he truly, seriously hopes Najaran did not. Not in her world.
There is-- there is some good after all. In the train snapping them back before they can die here. Esteban doesn't like it, certainly resents it. But it could be far worse.