ORIGIN

"I have done nothing worthy of your gratitude." Not yet. Khavur would not did not want to allow this, this shrinking away. Not again. He had already tried the fire and the onslaught to rip these two from the safety of their roots; now was the time to replant them, show them that there was space for them alongside him, and let them grow. Smothering the Labradorite beneath his own rank was the opposite of what he wanted to do, and the Labradorite did not seem to recognize that, even with the mention of when they were vines and tendrils together, nigh intertwined with that of a kraken. It didn't seem to notice. Maybe it didn't want to. Khavur would not have been surprised.

Well, Khavur didn't want to watch the Labradorite persist like this either, digging down when it could be sprouting up, but he would — he would find the patience, if he needed to, to swallow it down. He could snuff his curiosities for now; they need not get the best of him. He listened, he obeyed, he stepped away. Further and further away. Time, he would give. And luck... he would take. With a smile, as he departed.

And the hope churning in his boiler stomach was hot enough to sear him: Please think. Please think about it more. Please.