You could almost be forgiven for not noticing that something terrible had scorched the earth here. The Forge's farmland, the garden hidden away in Pegasus, was looking... almost, normal again. But only almost. There was still two massive sections where the plants had been crushed and trampled, and there was no hiding the fact when some of them were beginning to wilt and decay.

The Zoisite stood in the middle of one of the rows, staring down at the worst of the damage among these sprouts. There has to be a way to save them, pleaded the quietest part of it, and even though they had been too tired, too run down, to even get an ounce of magic to heal the flowers. Still, obliging did the Zoisite try, pouring more energy into the soil, into the roots.

It seemed only to expedite the death of the nearest plant, the yellowing of the flowers spreading and infecting it down to the core as it wilted further. Disgust-- rather than disappointment or fear-- hit it square in the gut. I'm sorry, it thought, taking its forelimb and scooping up the now dead plant. If it started to rot, the Zoisite thought such a thing could spread through the roots to another. Better to dispose of it.

Or maybe, the Zoisite wanted to hide the evidence. It grabbed the plant by the roots with its jaws, and plodded down the row to the edge of the garden, to drop it beyond the berry bushes and the natural barrier of the garden, into what was a modest attempt at a compost pile.

This time, it did not miss the sound of something moving through the woods toward it. Zoisite's head raised slowly, wary with exhaustion, to stare out at who approached.

"Hello?" The Zoisite called, ignoring the way its voice rasped with the effort.

@Khavur

"Hello," Khavur answered, not bothering to hide as she lumbered towards the garden, her outline almost almost regal amongst the hundred pillars of redwood surrounding her. The light dappled her hide, making the colors shift through a myriad of shaded rainbows. Khavur, on its own, was practically a prism here, reflecting all the information it was given. Perhaps that was beautiful. It would certainly not be comforting for the zoisite.

They paused, upon reaching the garden, and surveyed the surrounding region. Unfortunately, she was not clueless, and she was not to be forgiven. She noticed. She marveled at the two craters of destruction, and at the progress made despite those two, and at the rot she could smell rising from the compost pile. Fertile soil. Undergrowth. Life, and the zoisite, in the middle of it all.

Khavur retained composure, for she had no reason to lose it. However, one could see the plain concern in the eyes that remained mobile, and perhaps there was a softness to be caught within the pupils. She craned the neck of the smaller-horned head, down adorned in oilstone spires, to the ground, using it to catch further scent and investigate more minute details of their setting. The ram-horned head she kept raised, and spoke with: "What happened here?"

@V-Zoisite-One

Khavur's brilliance came stepping through the wood, their hide shifting and changing to strike out against the backdrop, refusing to be ignored. Not that they had any reason to hide, not among the safety of the garden and the reach of the Forge in general... Though, the Zoisite also acknowledged that Khavur had little reason to fear anything.

She was brave, powerful, a strike of lightning in a vacuum.

The kind of thing that-- at times-- could frighten a weak heart.

Zoisite paid none of that more than a passing thought. Khavur had been absent for some time, and now it acknowledged the new: the massive oilstone cluster that burst from one side of their face. They had attended the Deathmatch, and perhaps this was a consequence of such. A slight shutter clattered the quills along its underbelly as it considered them.

While the Zoisite was noting these things, Khavur was noting several things in return. The sight of the scarred garden, of the rotted pile it had in front of it-- Khavur addressed this bluntly.

How much it was willing to share was difficult to decide on the spot. It was one thing to explain to Master Vargas, or the others who worked in the garden. While Zoey trusted Khavur in spite of (or was it because of?) their previous row, this was the result of a private conversation. Even if Zoey didn't mind sharing it, how ever tentatively, it was the Overseer's privacy that the Zoisite guarded fiercely.

"Just a conversation that got out of hand," it answered. "No one was hurt." Did that matter to Khavur, of all people? Of course it does. It took a single talon and gently scraped at the newest addition to the pile of compost, as it explained. "I was trying to heal one of the damaged plants, but it might need time, rather than magic."

Raising its head once more, its golden eyes searched the gaze of their almost-clutchmate. Then, oddly, it took a decisive step forward. "It's good to see you," it said. "Are you alright?"

@Khavur

Khavur took in the... well, there was no other word for a "status report", was there? Two soldiers, one of notably higher rank than the other, reporting on the damage. Formulating the plan. The plan. All of this for a plan.

It still hurt something within Khavur. It couldn't be the body that was in pain, the body struggled to ever be in pain. It couldn't be hurting the stone, could it? Could they? The two-headed gaze, that was really just one head in disguise... Was it reflecting some kind of piercing light? Or was that, somewhere within the colossal construct of the Reaver-Holder, was that a dagger to the heart of the person?

Khavur was in no mood for the softness. None of it that hidden guilt or grief shown on her features. Burial was automatic. Rotting was natural. Regrowth was all part of the process. Nothing was out of place, nothing was of note— except, look at the garden Khavur, look at the compost pile, and do not deny what you know. She missed that part of her that understood. The part that was not her. She missed them.

"Just a conversation that got out of hand,"

Did I miss you?

"No one was hurt."

"...That is good." Yes, it mattered. For all of the reasons something could matter to someone, the wrong and the right. The zoisite would never know that. Maximus would have. Maximus would have been standing here right now, in her place. Being compassionate, being open, being able to care about this garden and this mysterious conversation that had gone awry, for more than just the facts. Instead it was her, Khavur, standing here. Empirical, fumbling and roiling like tempestuous waters inside, without showing it.

"I was trying to heal one of the damaged plants, but it might need time, rather than magic."

"It may be more fit to burn." The answer escaped her without the revelation, the necessary revelation of what it all sounded like, and what it all meant. It came out hot and dry as sandstone, sandpaper rasping on a weary tongue.

The sudden step forward surprised her. Would have impressed her, had she the right to be impressed. Her heads followed the motion, one from below and the other from on high. She did not take a step forward or backward, but another part of the massive mechanism begged for a release it could not have. A relief. She stared solemnly at the details of the grub, the carapace and quills, and wondered about the three or four heads present in the garden. Which one was good to see? Which one was the most "alright"? She almost wanted to reach out, for the comfort of sensation. An instinctual move learned from Maximus, the concept that touch could be calming. Not a single hand made it off the ground. A bold and frightening statue she remained.

"I am not. And yet, I am." Dynamic equilibrium. In the midst of so much change, it is possible to achieve nothingness. Khavur could not afford that anymore. Khavur needed a change that mattered, which is why she was here. Better remember that and start acting like it. "Maximus..." Khavur could scarcely maintain their unending stare, "left after the Deathmatch. I have not been able to find them." Or hear them. Or send a message and know it was received. But zoisite could not know that, not yet. And maybe not— Khavur's eyes drifted away as a moment of silence lapsed. Then they slowly crept back to the zoisite. "But... it is good to be back. I have much to do... I have learned much." Now is the time! Now is the chance! "What about you, V-Zoisite-One?" No one was hurt. No one but the plants. Not a scratch on the zoisite... Why did Khavur dare check, anyway? Wasn't it she who first— "Is that still your name?"

@V-Zoisite-One

The Zoisite tilted its head at Khavur's suggestion that burning might be a better solution. It felt much like a solution the reaver would come up with, but-- no, that wasn't fair. "Maybe," it allowed, putting a pin it in. Maybe once the harvest came and went. For now, the conversation pushed on, leaving the thought aside for another time.

Alright, and yet not. The Zoisite understood this: the light and the dark, the way one could be better than they had ever been, and yet deeply hurting. Another quiet quiver crept down its underbelly as Khavur went on to speak of what had happened at the Deathmatch.

Maximus was... unlikely to return. If Khavur couldn't find them, then no one could. And Khavur without Maximus was... To compare it with Zoey's own feelings was almost inappropriate. Her love was one-sided, a desperate reach for something that didn't exist. The Zoisite didn't know how deep their relationship reached, but it was impossible to ignore that the two had been close.

Still. Grief. The Zoisite recognized it, acknowledging with a subtle nod of its head.

Khavur was glad to be back all the same. Perhaps coping in the same, or similar, manner. The Zoisite's mandibles opened and then clicked shut with a quiet contemplation, only for the question to be turned to it. V-Zoisite-One.

Not a name. A designation. A name would be-- no,-- if anything, Zoisite. But even that was not... "I haven't earned a name," Zoisite replied in a simple, straight forward fashion. "I am tired," this answer came much easier with repetition, didn't it, "but I am fine."

And it was tempting to leave the conversation there. To let it die with one-sidedness as it often did. The Zoisite considered, sweeping its head toward the garden to stare out at the vast array of vegetables and plants that were all but waiting to be consumed.

"... I'm sorry to hear about Maximus. I'm going to miss them." But not like you will, Zoey whispered quietly. The Zoisite began to walk back toward the garden, swinging its head back, craning to see Khavur-- and give a nod encouraging them to come along with it. "What are you going to do?" It sounded like they had big plans.

@Khavur

Khavur felt the grief like a massive wave against an iron wall. Felt the phantom pains in her heart, her legs, her soul. Grief, guilt, and shame... she had created her own heavy burden to batter her necks. Everything made her remember, but especially this. Especially this one. The zoisite. While the labradorite felt like watching herself in the reflection of a wavering river, the zoisite felt like looking through the window of a familiar house. The comfort that brought her started the cycle of grief all over again.

Before it could continue to ramp and revolt, Khavur focused on the information laid before her. The zoisite lacked a name still, despite having worked so diligently on the gardens. More memories surfaced, which she would have to tamp down. And it was tired, but fine. Wasn't that the same as Khavur?

Without the courage of companionship, Khavur was at the zoisite's mercy. There was a moment of relief when more words entered the air, and when Khavur's attention was guided towards the garden. "... I'm sorry to hear about Maximus. I'm going to miss them." They would have missed you. They probably do. They loved... love you, still. I know they do. Khavur moved to follow at the zoisite's beckoning, keeping in pace although purposefully lagging a little behind in speed. "What are you going to do?" Apologize. The answer came swiftly to her head, but not her tongue.

"I will be a guard, as I had initially intended to be. I will... experiment. In several ways." No elaboration. Only an assurance was allowed: "Not as the doctor does. ...Do you remember the doctor?" Khavur hadn't seen much of him, but then, no one had seen much of Khavur either. He made her think of Maximus again. This is absurd. She turned her attention to the rest of the surroundings — the unburnt, unrotten. The living, thriving. "You have done well here. Well enough to have earned a reward. A name, if you so choose it. Or time away, in Cepheus." Maximus- "Maximus would have taken care of the plants for you, had you left." They are not dead. Khavur slowed noticeably. "They love you. Their siblings. They..." The slowing increased until she came to a full stop, staring far out into the woods beyond the garden, into the woods beyond the woods. Into the heart of the matter. "...I am sorry." Still refusing to look it in the face. She wished it could burn. She wished it could all burn. Shame. She wanted to use it as fuel, but the task she had to accomplish here would not accept that. Shame would have to be buried, so that forgiveness could grow here.

Except she had apologized for the wrong thing.

Khavur turned back to the zoisite, reluctant to move again. Some part of her moved forward, some part of her moved back, and Khavur felt suspended in air by tethers and strings. It was not an uncommon feeling. Without Eyes to see, without something to lead her, she would be stuck here until someone let her down. Again, she invited mercy. Mercy from someone who had no reason to give it to her. This was not Maximus. They all had their differences and distortions. Even so, the trees still had to shed their bark, if they ever hoped to grow anything back.

@V-Zoisite-One

The doctor. Zoey had nearly killed him. Had been inches away from snapping his throat like a rat.

It was better that she didn't see him much anymore.

"I remember," the Zoisite answered with a small nod, leaving it at that. It was better that they didn't get into that mess right now. "... what will you experiment with?" Perhaps that was yet to be determined, itself.

Khavur turned toward the rest of the thriving garden and made a call that maybe wasn't theirs to make. The Zoisite knew it was intended as a compliment, but of course it came with a quiet sting. A name.

Every good deed she had done, she had wronged along side. Using a name that wasn't hers to claim. (Why not?) Sneaking off the Cepheus on a foolhearty mission that ended up going no where. Making friends...

Zoisite had worked hard. No matter what they had done, they had been loyal. No one could say that they hadn't tried to do right by her family. They had--

They love you.

Zoey froze.

I am sorry.

The Zoisite stared out at Khavur, at the line of white, pigment scarred skin that ran along their back, unable to see either sets of eyes that stared out at the forest beyond its garden.

Zoey remembered Maximus taking her away from the retreating form of her mother, sitting down beside her, speaking softly. She remembered not hearing a single word. She didn't need to have another hole in her chest, she didn't need to grieve--

"Khavur?" The Zoisite called after them quietly as they turned back toward it, finding it difficult to catch their gaze. But then again, it didn't know what to say. There were thoughts, swimming, no, treading water, drowning beneath the surface. It was daunting how many of them pleaded for Khavur to stay, to not be another hole on her heart.

They aren't leaving, was all it could think to reassure itself. I don't know why... but...

It hesitated, then took a few steps forward.

"This isn't easy, is it?" It asked, reaching, reaching, reaching out blindly through the darkness. Blind leading blind, if they could just find one another. Did the Zoisite have even the slightest idea what "it" was? Maybe, somewhere. It could guess, perhaps. But that wasn't the point. They had to reach Khavur. Why had they come here... why, now?

@Khavur

The zoisite remembered the doctor. It made that pang, that stinging loneliness, somewhat easier. As if to say: that is right. They were little once, too. They were all little, and I was big. And none of us understood what we understand now. Ignorance was not good for Khavur, but for the zoisite...? She remembered her wrath, all she had inflicted upon the zoisite and the labradorite, the sickening crunches, the vice grip on her limbs. For... them, it might have been bliss. That was assuming they now understood what Khavur had attempted to teach, which was not a guarantee. Well— that is untrue, Khavur could ensure that they now understood pain. And fear. What an unfortunate gift.

The zoisite asked, but Khavur was already so swarmed with thoughts she could not truly answer. It was all one moment of stalling to the next, one lapse of courage falling over London bridge and smashing the whole thing to pieces. She could not destroy. But she wanted to. As her gaze fell out over the gardens, she briefly wondered if it would truly make her feel better to destroy the parts that were flawed. I would never forgive myself. There would be no Maximus to forgive for her. Thus, it was time to change.

"Khavur?" Her eyes did not waver as Zoisite-One called her name. An old desperation entered her soul, and perhaps it escaped through her pupils, or pooled in her irises. She remained silent and motionless, until the zoisite stepped forward. Khavur returned the gesture, slowly inching forward herself, with all the hesitation of a wild beast. "This isn't easy, is it? Desperation welled into a smile across the face that could still see. "No, it is not. No, to apologize... to come forth with honesty... I would die to accomplish this task, and yet I feel I may die in the attempt." It was hard for Khavur to understand pain. Physically and mentally, everyone seemed to feel a different pain from herself. Maximus had been a perfect window, and at times, a perfect reflection, to show her what it looked like and felt like in others. And in herself. Seeing the zoisite here, now, when what her heart told her to do was rip apart the shell from the skin, eradicate the pain to make space for something new... that, in and of itself, was painful. Why can I not change? Why can I not melt my own skin and bones, and mold it into something more like them? She had spent enough time dwelling on this. She had to prove her loyalty.

"There is too much that I never separated in my mind, too much in my mind to separate. I do not know how to apologize for an action that I felt was, in some ways, wrong, and in others..." Khavur's eyes broke contact. Would the zoisite push back, like she had feared Maximus would? Would she be ridiculed or feared somehow for what she was, what she believed? Would she end up destroying genuine progress if she did not wither, fall back now? Maximus would have told her to... Maximus would not have even recognized her current state. Maximus would have approached this as nothing more than a person. That would have been right for just the two of them, but Khavur would have had to apologize eventually for what she had done; as both monster and person, as whatever she made herself out to be.

"I know I did wrong by you." That was a fact, regardless of perspective. Maximus had thought so, the zoisite and the labradorite had withdrawn from her, nothing had ever been the same. "On that day, when I attacked you and Labradorite-One... I did wrong by us all. The day lives on in my memory... like the tongues of a flame; battering me, enraging me, and working against me. That, I recognize as guilt." Her eyes returned to scan carapace and flesh alike, to study feature and flaw. To watch the zoisite, in full, and search for some sign of life, an answer tucked away in the creases and folds. "I had my reasons for the act, some worthy and some... Some I never wish to repeat, urges I never wish to act upon again. These, I apologize for." Desperate for the knowledge to continue, Khavur sent out the bloodhound tendrils of magic to sniff out emotion and bring it back to her. Even if they did howl for her halting now, Khavur would not be able to wait, now that the stream was pulsing through and gushing down her chin. "I saw flaws in you, and flaws in me. Master Vargas had battled me without restraint or remorse to teach me a lesson, and so I attacked you both in the same fashion, claiming the same goal. But I was a person as well, who wished to inflict the pain I had received. I was wrong to have hurt you that way, without warning... and wrong to have left you both behind afterward. I..." Khavur took a breath and looked around. "Perhaps you never... You never asked for this, perhaps you never wanted this, this recount, or my apology. I needed to tell you, I needed you to hear it and to know: I am sorry. I seek improvement, perfection, with tooth and claw, I fight and I lose, and this is what changes me." Claws were easy to direct inward. But this was not just about Khavur. "I do not know what changes you." I do not even know who you are, really.

"For Maximus, we agreed... we had to move on from this place and time. Cycles have passed, and together we were stuck, in some endless... function. Joyless and beleaguered. Thus we agreed... the first thing that must change... was the relationship between you and I, Labradorite-One and I. I still... view you both as my... siblings, if I have any right to..." Khavur's voice was breaking, her stamina depleting. Yet this could not be the end. She sighed, shook one head slightly, attempted to steady herself and switch gears on the track. "Maximus was supposed to have done this, lightening this load before you would have to hear it all from me. And then the Deathmatch happened." Something was ravaging her maw, some violent, blazing urge. She would not let so much as a whimper or a roar of it escape. "So no, it is not easy. It is difficult, especially now, with this... state of mine. However," Khavur gathered a valiant amount of almost steely composure, "it must be done. Change must come. Regrowth must begin." Or else, the forest will not survive. I hope you understand. The need was written in her expression, but whether or not the zoisite was inclined to read it... That was up to them.

@V-Zoisite-One

The Zoisite stood still as a statue, attentive, as it reached out and... Khavur reached back.

Slowly, words tumbled forward, explanations and struggles let on full display. Surely it was enough for Zoey to come forward, for the heart of the Zoisite to be stirred-- but she had retreated, deep into the depths, leaving the Zoisite's carapace to act in her place.

To listen, absorb, and try to understand. The image of Master Vargas was jarred by this strange image: the firm but compassionate Master, striking Khavur down as a lesson. It was a side of Master Vargas that the Zoisite had never seen, and yet...

... it had seen, in the eyes of the Orthoclase. Had known, in the harsh warnings. Had felt, in the blood shed by Khavur and indeed in its own raging blood. Turmoil made the earth twist away from the Zoisite, and it took an uneasy step to try and balance itself.

There was no reaching Zoey in this conversation. It was a shame, too, because deep down, she might have been able to find the words to share the ideas and feelings that connected them to Khavur like a red string. Where Khavur's magic reached, it found only a grim determination. Though there was a void of feeling, the mandibles opened regardless, and tried to bridge the gap.

"I don't blame you for what you did," the Zoisite spoke only once Khavur's tumbling explanation came to a close. "I think I understand better now... Where it came from." There was more that needed to be said, here. More that needed to be expressed, desperately-- Khavur might have felt that desperation, the yawning darkness just beyond a hard brick wall.

"You didn't have to tell me what happened. What made you attack us," it tilted its head, golden eyes blinking as it tried to explain the logic that laid behind its own motives. "I think I understood the why already. If you are expecting for me to hate you for hurting me, I... I am incapable of that." Because...

Because.

"You are my sibling," the Zoisite echoed. It was something that they might have been uncertain they could claim, given the circumstances of their creations, but it was simple to affirm Khavur's feelings. "I would have missed you, too, if you had left... But you are here," and with this, it took a few more steps closer, closing that massive gap between them. "If I can help you grow... change... regrowth," it promised, "I would do anything. I know you would do the same, even if it meant carrying more than your own weight."

Still, that wasn't the way it needed to be, was it?

"We don't know what we're doing," the Zoisite said. "But we can learn. Maybe we will make mistakes," it shrugged. "so be it. I forgave you a long time ago, Khavur."

From the darkness, of course, came its own guilt. Her guilt. Khavur had hurt them, and they had easily forgave Khavur. But themself? It still ate away at them. They had hurt Khavur in return, had lashed out at Labradorite, the Doctor, Maximus...

Zoey had been-- still was-- terrified to hurt anyone again. And Khavur had brought out the part of her that was fully capable of causing real, physical pain. There was no fear of being hurt, only of hurting.

She was a long, long way from forgiving herself. If Khavur could make the first steps, then so could they. "I need to apologize, too," the Zoisite said simply, though the words must have seemed shallow for how little it gave in return for Khavur's rambling, "I hurt you too. And you have spent a long time not knowing... I should have said something sooner." How much had the Zoisite intentionally avoided Khavur, and how much had simply been incidental, it was hard to truly say.

But it had allowed a hidden pain to fester away, and so the guilt bubbled away in the heels of their carapace.

@Khavur

Khavur knew not what — or who — she failed to grasp. She only knew what was given: an affirmation to understanding, an... unexpectedly heart-wrenching manifesto, an equally unexpected determination, and a semblance of the zoisite's own... needless guilt. She listened with the same patience she was offered.

Her expression of deep thought shifted flavors over the course of the zoisite's message. At first, there was mild surprise — how could you not blame me? — which turned into mild acceptance at the mention of what Khavur did not need to do. As if this was a critique, and Khavur was making notes of what not to do next time. (Well, there would be a 'next time'.) There was a thrill of anticipation, an unresolved hunger for why, why someone like Maximus, someone like the zoisite, would be incapable of hating a creature like Khavur. A creature who, in so many ways...— It made the Reaver wonder, briefly, about the contributors to the zoisite's existence, because the first reason Khavur could invent for why it would be impossible was framed as a question in turn: Were you built that way? But the zoisite was not properly built, not like Master Vargas. They had orthoclase in them, which only made Khavur wonder further. Silent wondering was all it would amount to for the time being, because the ease of the pardon was a brunt almost too much to bear.

"You are my sibling." The stated reason came, and the insistence made her heart swell with a familiar sense of hope. "If I can help you grow... change... regrowth, I would do anything. I know you would do the same, even if it meant carrying more than your own weight." It was not a joke most likely, given the circumstances, but Khavur felt the unbefitting compulsion to laugh anyway. To laugh as if they had never been to Draco before, and they were still freshly hatched, and their hatchmates were still small enough to play on their back and tail. As if their weight composed the world, the entirety of the world; as if Khavur were pretending they were too heavy so as to amuse them. As if Zoisite-One were nothing more than another memory to be treasured until it could resurface. But she resisted that compulsion.

"Maybe we will make mistakes... so be it. I forgave you a long time ago, Khavur." She nodded her head reverently, the most reaction she could provide while her minds were busy building cities out of synapses. I will hold you to this. Should you know? That was the price of swearing loyalty, even the loyalty of their ilk. Maximus would not have doubted it for a second. In their honor, Khavur would continue without such guards, but part of their electric spider citadel caught just a portion in its web, unwilling to let go. You should know, but I will not tell you. The train of thought was buried under the tunnel there.

By the time they reached the end, Khavur could no longer help the smile sprouting on each of her faces, the joy beaming down on at least one set of eyes. It was a sad, contemplative joy — one Khavur had not expected from this, and one that was grateful for its own opportunity at existence. A living, serendipitous joy, like a snake in tall grass. Of all the people that had the capacity to elicit that feeling despite the odds, it felt most like a trait of Master Vargas's. Maximus displayed it most as well, and that felt like the only line of connection between the two figures that Khavur could draw. She supposed that trait could have entered all of his spawn, shining through only when the clouds were clear. The tethers of bloodlines and lineage ensorcelled Khavur's tongue, prompting her to speak about the similarities with that same burning nostalgia that tormented her day and night. "You are... so much like them, sometimes... I always think. Gracious," willing to forgive me, "kind," attuned to emotions in ways Master Vargas is not, "and suffering... from this pressure, of sorts, to bear more than you must." There were other familial resemblances, but Khavur only focused on the part she had to address. That apology was needless, and misguided, and personal as a dandelion; not to be crushed. "You need not apologize. Pain, for me... is different than it is for you, perhaps." Sometimes. "All of it fuels me. The love and the lack. All is my gift. Thank you... for hearing me. For your... Your intuitiveness... It was not easy for you either, was it?" A shot in the dark, it seemed, fired back in the direction of the shooter. "Yet you pressed onward, and here we are. It is a resilience I was too blind to see, back then. I am glad I returned, to see it. ...To see you." Such was the value of returning with a clearer mind. Khavur would not make the same mistake again.

"The process of regrowth," Khavur's heads turned back out to the fields, "with your resilience and wisdom, I feel it can at last begin. To know you have... to know this now sustains me for the better, but... you are not the only one I- I have wronged. And I do not know how... I must speak with Labradorite-One as well. I do not know how they will react." I still think of them as my sibling, too. But the labradorite had always been a different sort of puzzle. It was a strange feeling of whiplash, seeing from this self-analytical perspective how easy it was for Khavur to glide between an open heart and a iron head. She had that capacity, to feel and to solve all at once. "Business" crept into her tone, but the undercurrent of vulnerability remained a most crucial detail. "By the progress made, I hope to free us all. From the things we cannot, and should not, bear. If you will help me... then I ask once more for your conference, outside of Draco. And with Labradorite-One... I am less certain of how they react to me. But you, you they would protect, perhaps listen to. Could you... tell them I am searching for them? That I have come to amend my past mistakes? If they accept, then perhaps we can try again. To change and grow, without the... unnecessary venom." Khavur's mind, running wild as a billy goat, wound up lost in the prosperous garden. They muttered something about "compost" before letting words wither and die, giving way to a snow dust silence.

I do not wish only to free us. The thought, new and old, churned in her mind, but she could not speak it yet. I want to bind us. Together. Something in her heart revolted at the phrase, at how easily it could be weaponized, at how truthful and ugly it was. To make certain that you are all a part of me. "I do not want to leave you again," Khavur's voice would phase back into being, although they would not look towards the zoisite as they spoke. Then, just as suddenly, it would dissipate with the breeze. Because I love you. But she could not say that yet, so she resisted.

@V-Zoisite-One