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I’m still lost in my thoughts, feeling nostalgia for the way things were back home. Nature was one of the few pleasantries that no one could take from me, even at the human camps. Absorbed in my memories, I’m caught off guard when Volikan takes my hand as we walk.
It’s a simple gesture, but still surprising. It yanks me back into the moment, the here and now. I look at him, and I’m sure the question in my eyes is evident. He gazes back at me, his face serious.
“You seem bothered,” he points out. I’m even more flabbergasted than I was, shocked that he would pay any attention to my mood.
It’s not a grand gesture, of course, but from him, any gesture is meaningful. Before I know it, I find myself babbling all the things that were on my mind, everything spilling out like an overflowing bucket.
I half expect him to interrupt, to tell me to be quiet. But he doesn’t. He doesn’t say anything, in fact, just nods occasionally to show that he hears me.
It isn’t much, but from him, it feels like a lot. And when I’m done, finally quiet and exhausted, I realize that I’m glad I could share that with him.
He still doesn’t say anything. He just squeezes my hand, and I like to imagine that it’s his way of saying he’s glad I could share it, too.
Later that night, I lay in my bed. Staring at the ceiling, I’m still too wound to sleep. Instead, I reflect on my day, trying to organize my thoughts.
The one thing that keeps circling around my brain is my walk home with Volikan, and the way he took my hand. The way he listened as I talked.
Sometimes, it seems like there’s something more to him. A softer layer, underneath all the hardness that he wears like a shield. It could be in my imagination, but its moments like that one that really make me wonder.
It just felt too gentle to be a mistake, an accident, a misinterpretation. He doesn’t know how to let his tender side show, but that doesn’t mean it isn’t there.
I’m not sure what happened, to make him want to hide it so deeply. It’s so far down that it’s easy to miss, and I nearly did. Maybe that’s just what it means, to be a demon. Hardness and toughness, all the time, and smothering any part of you that wants to be soft.
I guess when you grow up surrounded by other demons, softness and weakness gets you killed. But it’s not weakness, at least not to me. It’s amazing, and I wish I could figure out how to get him to let it out more often.
Right now, it only comes through in the tiniest, most infrequent little glimmers. But I’m certain it’s there, just waiting to show itself.
Maybe I’m the one he needs to bring it out. Maybe the Mother was right all along, and this really is where I was meant to be. Maybe this, right here, is why.
“Your humble servant comes to thank you, Mother,” I begin my nightly prayer. “Thank you for leading me here and showing me the way to navigate this difficult situation. It seemed insurmountable at first, but thanks to Your guidance I can now see my way through it. Thank you for giving me the strength to manage, and for your tender love and care.”
I close my eyes, reflecting quietly to myself. Inwardly, I can hear one thought, over and over. At first, I try to dismiss it, but then I begin to realize that it is another command, from the Mother. She comes with more guidance, persisting until I will listen.
The thought that blooms in my heart, the one that I know comes from the Mother, tells me that I must persist and not lose hope. I need to stay, because I’m the only one who can bring out the best in him.
I see the goodness that no one else can, which means that I am the only one who can encourage it and bring it out. Even Volikan himself does not know it’s there, so focused on his dark, berserk side that he’s never considered the possibility that he contains a brighter side, too.
It is my job to make him better, and I will see it through. No matter what the future holds.
110
VOLIKAN
“That one looks like a thistle,” she says, pointing. I turn just enough to see, without disrupting her head from its position where it rests on my arm.
“What’s a thistle?” I ask. She gives me a sideways look, as if trying to decide if I’m teasing her. I’m not sure why she thinks I would – I’m hardly the lighthearted type.
She must reach the same conclusion because her dubious expression slides away. It’s replaced by one of confusion, as she tries to think of a way to explain it. “They’re an animal on Protheka. Covered in wool, very fluffy.”
I roll back onto my side, losing interest in the cloud. Facing her now, I smirk. “Doesn’t every cloud look like that, then?”
She sighs good naturedly. “No!” she insists. “Not just like that. That one has legs and eyes, even. Don’t you see it?”
I don’t bother to look a second time. “If you say so.” All I see are storm clouds, the same thing we see every day.
She frowns, and for some reason I want to laugh at the absurdity of it all. She’s such a bizarre creature, so earnest and insistent about the most meaningless things. And yet, for some reason, I find it to be one of the many likable things about her.
I wonder sometimes, where she finds the energy to care so much about everything, so deeply. It’s both impressive and inspiring, even if it’s something that I don’t think I’ll ever be able to fully understand.
