Bryte was disappointed, and it was impossible for him to keep his eyes from expressing that. It was all metaphors, nothing solid, nothing that truly told him how his father was killed. That hurt, but it was not her fault and Bryte could not hold it against her. He took it all in, trying to sort out the details in his mind, grasping for imagery, though he really had no concept of dream imagery himself. Sean died, by the hands of some unknown man, and while this girl had known he would die, she did not know how or by whose hand. It had been a gamble, and while it was not a jackpot, it was not a loss either.
He dropped his face into his hands, pausing there a moment before dragging them up over his face and into his dark hair. "Thank you," he finally said, dropping his hands heavily to the arms of his chair. "I am sorry I dragged you through what had to be unpleasant memories." He took another breath before shrugging slightly. "My father was a very good man, he cared for everyone. I'm glad you got to meet him." And then came the small, forced smile. He wished he had learned more, he wished he could tell her something to make her concerns about it all easier, he mostly wished his father was here to be the support this girl clearly wanted. If wishes were horses...