He had anticipated Veho staying away, still repulsed by what he had said. Had this been any of his older siblings, there was a high chance of them leaving him where he lay with their usual complaint, "You're such a baby, Rook... Grow up already." All he had wanted was to make them see how and what he saw; he wanted their sympathy, to be coddled and comforted so that he might remember the cause-and-effect of it all. In this instance, it was rather different, this wasn't for attention; the little Lord Rook's deer antler hadn't been stolen away and he had not been denied an extra bit of deer liver. He had been refused the sort of love he had grown used to receiving, the sort of support and affection that could have only been given to him by his father, his Leader and superior until the day he found he was capable of taking over in his stead.
Rook remained in his spot, wedged up against the gentle curve of the tunnel wall, so ready to accept that he, in that very moment, was not worthy of such assurance and that his hubris was to blame. The Macieo saw through it or, rather, seemed to understand the root of the turmoil that had sprung up from his companion. Rook's ear twitched as he felt the warmth return at his back, a soothing lick grazing over where he had received a reprimanding pinch.
There was no other way around it, Veho had said. A wince distorted Rook's face. Had he believed in the Holy Spirit still, he might have openly brought that up for discussion but left it unsaid. Perhaps this was how he was to suffer as someone without some sort of resolute sense of faith. He could deal with it, he opted; he had done everything thus far on his own, this would be no different. He had Veho. He had Quil. He had his family and a safe haven to call home.
A small whine had emitted from him then, delayed, as he found himself caught up in the envisioned memory of little Namid and Veho countering each other just like Rook and Bishop did every so often in their childhood. "I will try," he affirmed with a whisper, just loud enough to be heard over the rain. "Do...Do you... Do we know?" he asked quietly, suddenly much too focused the ground just beyond his nose. "Do we know much time he might have left? I want-- I want to have enough time to tell him goodbye."
Chances are I have a BEN WHISHAW gif for that.