"It's bright," Samandriel whispered, "bright and chaotic and easily bent in ways that home...home never has been. Short lives. There and gone in an instant, but so much potential...all of them..."
He didn't comment on Duma saying the right words or needing to blend in. The only time Silence was meant to go unnoticed was when it was a comfortable one. He pulled back a little, keeping points of contact as he laid down again, sure that he'd pushed too far. Too tactile. Too hopeful. Too much Samandriel. Trying to plant seeds where there was no soil.