#itreyu

And so the two inhabited a long silence. As they watched the town from the little green crest, small figures in the distance felt strangely whole. A sensation like floating. Raymond chewed on his words a little, kneading them in his head, unconvinced by his own scripted pablum and thinking, unavoidably, that if he hadn't convinced himself, how could he have convinced the smuggler? He sets the book aside, leaving it flat open on the rock, thin transluscent pages flipping intermittently in the soft breeze.

"You came here seeking forgiveness from scripture."

Immediately, the fox's ears perk up. Trey can something's shifted. The father's tone is less stilted.

"You know, one of the most beautiful things about scripture is that sometimes you don't find the answer for all your questions and concerns in the words."

Raymond pauses, looking out into the horizon where the distant cliffs leagues past Echo converge into a thin, blurry, jagged line. "It tells us, 'go, you must experience it yourself.' It bestows a terrifying level of trust on us to find the answers."

His gaze returns from the far-off wilds, and to the gently swaying foliage bending around Trey's kneeling legs. Without saying another word, the father drapes his digits over the smuggler's shoulder. Small squeeze.

"A hand on your shoulder isn't an answer, no. It won't wipe away anything you've done or fear you might do, but... maybe it can start you on your way to find some answers on your own."