The flames lick around the brickwork but stay contained, even as Crozier’s own thoughts become more uneven.
Rama doesn’t spend his days here hoping for a goodbye, but he doesn’t nor wish it either. Everything about the vision hurts - that poor woman, this poor, poor man, this unfortunate line of events, and Crozier allows for Ram’s guilt and sorrow and sickness with himself to fill his heart.
But he feels for himself too. How could he not? He doesn’t want to say goodbye to Ram anymore than Ram does, and the thought of more isolation and loneliness…
Crozier leans into Ram, his head resting on top of his. He replays the vision of Rama growing distant from his own point of view, that stiff upper lip he’d keep on his face as he stood in the doorway and watched him leave his life forever.
It’s terrible, and he can’t stop the thoughts of an empty sea of ice, legs strapped together as he waits by a breathing hole for a seal to emerge. He thinks of the long trek over uneven terrain, the sounds of men one by one falling dead in their tracks behind him, then eventually silence. The fluttering of papers and canvas, the sight of a circle of people dressed in furs, caring for him despite how ‘othered’ he is.
He doesn’t want Rama to have these thoughts, and he tries to bring himself back to a place of support. He’ll go on, as he always does. He hugs him tighter, as if he might disappear right then and there.
“There is no choice,” he tells him hoarsely. “There should be no hesitation. You know I understand.”
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The flames lick around the brickwork but stay contained, even as Crozier’s own thoughts become more uneven.
Rama doesn’t spend his days here hoping for a goodbye, but he doesn’t nor wish it either. Everything about the vision hurts - that poor woman, this poor, poor man, this unfortunate line of events, and Crozier allows for Ram’s guilt and sorrow and sickness with himself to fill his heart.
But he feels for himself too. How could he not? He doesn’t want to say goodbye to Ram anymore than Ram does, and the thought of more isolation and loneliness…
Crozier leans into Ram, his head resting on top of his. He replays the vision of Rama growing distant from his own point of view, that stiff upper lip he’d keep on his face as he stood in the doorway and watched him leave his life forever.
It’s terrible, and he can’t stop the thoughts of an empty sea of ice, legs strapped together as he waits by a breathing hole for a seal to emerge. He thinks of the long trek over uneven terrain, the sounds of men one by one falling dead in their tracks behind him, then eventually silence. The fluttering of papers and canvas, the sight of a circle of people dressed in furs, caring for him despite how ‘othered’ he is.
He doesn’t want Rama to have these thoughts, and he tries to bring himself back to a place of support. He’ll go on, as he always does. He hugs him tighter, as if he might disappear right then and there.
“There is no choice,” he tells him hoarsely. “There should be no hesitation. You know I understand.”