you do not know who is your friend
and who is your enemy
He wondered if he should want to be completely malleable, able to twist his insides to fit whatever Serach—and the pack—needed the most. If he should want to be able to crush his own heart, sweep it into a lonesome, forgotten corner, and let it rest there, asleep. Dormant. Placed somewhere where it couldn't even whisper of its existence, of its love for the Wildwood, and its love of Triell. A place where he could not remember these things—a place where he could not accidentally hurt Serach, whether it be today, tomorrow, or a year from now.
But he was nearly nine years old, and there was too much of Ice in him to ever be anything but Ice. And surely, he wouldn't do anyone any favors if he changed, for them, smashed his core and became something that was not Ice. Perhaps it was his lost memory that begged him to return to Eden and the Wildwood, perhaps it was something else, but even though that dragon's voice called out for him, he chose to stay, because no matter how much he wanted to walk among the tress of the Grove again, he wanted to be with his son more.
And no matter how much he wanted to be with Triell, his band-aid against the darkness and the loss of Marsh, he wanted to be with his son more.
Feeling Serach's head press against his shoulder reminded him that it was worth it, even in the long hours of night, when the siren's call was the loudest.
But some truths were hard, jagged, cut your mouth when you spoke them; some things were truths you, perhaps, did not want to hear. Maybe his little..admission had been one of those things, for there was a reluctance in Serach's voice, and it hurt him, but he knew what it felt like. When Triell had defended Naira from him.. the confusion, the anger, the desire to not dwell on it because he was afraid of what he'd do to Triell if he truly considered the implications... It was judgment and betrayal. Am I not worth more to you, than her—she, who hurt us so badly..?
Time had told him, that, no, he was not.
But between Serach and Triell..? He couldn't even imagine ever having to make some kind of choice, more than the one he had already made in staying behind, but also, in choosing not to hate Triell for his actions.
He tilted his head, and looked at his son when he spoke, and remained looking at him when he fell silent. He wasn't sure if he should say it, but to him, forgiveness and not hating were not the same thing; he could choose to not hate Triell for leaving, but forgiving him for it..? For the timing, the awful execution, the way they fled like thieves in the night..? "I understand that," he finally said, ears splaying on his head. "And I will never, ever think less of you for how you feel about this. You have every right to feel betrayed, and worse, by them, and him in particular." He leaned over his son, attempted to place a small kiss by the base of his ear.