<blockquote><font style='margin-left:20px;'><i>Trisden's faith had always been something taken for granted. She took for granted that God existed, just as she took for granted that He was far beyond her comprehension. She took for granted that Kiche was not lying to her, just as she took for granted the fact that nobody else seemed to listen to him. She took it for granted that her beliefs were not a bad thing, even when their existence clashed with those of her family. When she was older, Trisden had begun to question these things she had never really questioned before, and therein had laid her downfall. The moment she had begun to doubt, everything had slowly unravelled. Theodore was dead, and it had been all her fault.</font>
<font style='margin-left:20px;'>And yet, at the same time, it had not been. She had been a child. She did not know what to believe any more.</font>
<font style='margin-left:20px;'>"You need to learn to let go," he had said, all long whiskery fur and shining eyes. They had been his first words to her, many days after she and Hocus had joined their ranks. She had frowned, and believed that he was to ignore her presence forever. With those bright eyes now on her, she did not know whether she could stand it.</font></i>
She could scarcely believe it. Paranoid delusions of rejection and loneliness had gripped her for so long that this feeling of <i>relief</i> was almost alien. He was still here, he had not vanished, and yet she doubted it still, half-believing him capable of vanishing at any moment. Such thoughts were folly, she knew, for she did not put nearly as much truth in silly supernatural things as she once did, but the incredulousness remained. All of the bitterness of the encounter was swept away by it, by the dual sensation of elation and awed disbelief. <i>She was wanted.</i> Trisden Lyall had never wanted anything more than validation and her place in greatness. Whether or not she would earn the latter was yet to be seen - but without the first, without <i>acceptance</i>, she was nothing.
Kade Attaya was a saint, and Trisden Lyall loved him dearly, never more than in these moments.
<b>"I can't believe you found me,"</b> she breathed, inhaling him once more, pressing her head into his shoulder. She could not believe a lot of things of late, it appeared. <b>"You... I... I should never have left. I'm so sorry. I let you all down."</b> It was impossible to hold back, and so she did not bother. Yet the emotion stuck in her throat as it all tried to spill out at once, confessions and apologies and promises - it could not fit. She was too small a wolf for so much. It was all she could do to sit here with her saint and not collapse in a heap of soggy, worn-out willpower, for her reserves had all but dried up. It had taken so much to get here, to get this far, and she had not recognised her own exhaustion. It was too much. Trisden was a tightly-wound spring, and had been for so long that now, upon release and after the initial elation of release, she found that she was twisted and misshapen and probably changed forever.
<i>Hjornir would be pleased,</i> she thought suddenly, and the memory of his bright eyes alongside the warm presence of Kade somehow made everything better.</blockquote>