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He shrugs. "I do not - remember Yule very well. But then."

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Ophel falls deathly silent.

Oh.

Perhaps he is mistaken. Perhaps he is reading too much into this.

His gut tells him otherwise.

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“Me too.” He settles quietly.

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He cannot possibly mean what Voltur just for a moment hoped he meant. 

 

"I am - glad." He tries a smile. 

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“You will look after yourself, tomorrow, will you not?”

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"I always do." The fear for Ophel is creeping back in again. "I have done so all my life. Survival is a matter of habit."

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“Good.” 

I cannot lose you again.

”I should retire for the night. If I do not go now, I will sleep through our departure in the morning.” 

Almost a year of this, and it remains no less daunting.

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"Sleep well."

He waits until he hears Ophel's footsteps fade away before he lets the tears fall. 

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