off-menu

Doing what must be done. Oh, it was a pithy line for all those in positions of power to parrot, and some of them even meant it, but Krelian wondered how much anyone could ever truly realize must be done in the eyes of god, and how pitifully little humanity could do to realize any of that work.

Roni? Noble, as noble as any Fatima had ever been or come. Krelian hadn't seen them, but he saw the pattern with his own eyes and he memorized it. It would be uselessly useful for centuries, then.

One shouldn't confuse nobility for cautiousness, however. The Fatima family had not achieved their various great successes by being circumspect and wise. Instead, it was their boldness that had won them this far.

A belief in the basic merits of people. Looking for hope and goodness in the hearts of men that were timid and tongue-tied with themselves.

Krelian felt his own cup emptying, dripping out through the crack that he attempted to patch with the consumption of knowledge. It was not a vapid falsehood that he did enjoy reading, as per Sophia's recommendation, but he certainly didn't enjoy it enough to put value on his own life, the vessel of absorption.

Roni couldn't see this. He shouldn't have had Sophia's innocence, and yet he exhibited it so naturally, when he encouraged Krelian to eat.

At the cost of his own savor, perhaps. Krelian was, of course, mightily observant, and he saw that Roni's exuberant motions to inspire the rest were not matched on his own plate. Not disingenuousness, again, but to Krelian disheartening.

An expression of pure and unreserved love, for people and companions, for the very fact of their current predicament.

Krelian couldn't share this. He couldn't appreciate Roni's sacrifice, however small or earnest.

It disagreed with him far more than the bitter, metallic crumb of the ration biscuits did threaten to upset his stomach.

But, then, such things happened when you'd forbidden yourself to eat.