Nate'd thought about singing. He hadn't had the heart for it then, maybe that was a failing, too.

He'd thought about fighting, but he was tired of being a soldier.

He'd wanted to help, and he hadn't cared about the risk. Or maybe he had, maybe, in a way, Cecil was right to worry, but...

Nate shut his eyes against tears. Swallowed hard, and held his breath. Hearing someone say it out loud — hearing Cecil say it, that Nate was afraid, not a passive witness to the terror of others, but a participant, the same as all the rest—

Maybe he wasn't as settled in this third chance at life as he'd hoped himself to be. Shaking his head, Nate struggled again to find words. Where was the condemnation? For arrogance, if nothing else, hadn't he earned it?

Lightheadedness forced an inhale. He cracked open his eyes, I—

Cecil claimed fear and Nate's racing thoughts ran the trail of hypotheticals where their positions were reversed. Where Cecil was the regimental, where Nate had done no wrong. But it was easy to forgive. He knew Cecil, maybe not in every way, but enough — was certain they were a good folk. That their mistakes or secret shames wouldn't undo that in Nate's eyes.

With Nate, though, the situation was different. He was — different. Cecil didn't know the whole of him and it felt shameful, sinful even, to have tricked them into thinking Nate was better than he was.

The idea of accepting forgiveness, or even abstinence from judgement, tugged at something angry deep inside. He struggled to tamp it down. Jaw clenched.

Was that arrogance, too?

Maybe pride was Nate's real flaw. Some crippled ugly thing that had no right to stand tall like it did in moments of such immense shortcoming.

Ought not the be forgiven. Nate's ears curled back sharp, because the idea Cecil, or really anyone else, might do something beyond grace, felt so foreign. If Cecil had the notion they were condemned in any fashion, they wouldn't find agreement from Nate on the matter.

Every next word rolled off their tongue, earnest, and Nate knew he was supposed to buck up. To agree they spoke sense. Smile again. Shake off the burden, answer the question.

This was the part where he was meant to be anything other than what he'd always been, some twisted broken thing who was only good at pretending for a while. Each word hit like a blow to a heart still mending.

Why had he stayed? Where was his courage, now?

Nate swallowed. He stared at his rocks. Thought about Eleanore.

Trembled, faintly, and it struck him in a wave of shame that all his explanations sounded too much like excuses. Man up! the voice of his father scolded.

You're right. Nate diverted, defaulted, appeasement smooth off his tongue like the stones at his feet. It did not match the taut of his jaw.

Wasn't fair, what happened to you. You didn't deserve it. And Nate meant that, earnestly. Or any of the hell I put you through, after. Words that wouldn't make up for things,

Words he wished he'd had the chance to tell Eleanore, too.

But wasn't hell where Nate had been often told he was bound? He knew why he'd been killed as a man, had recognized the faces who'd done him in and — should have known better. I'm trying to — do better, than I have been. He forced out.

Divisive impulses tore at him, one where he donned the mask through grit teeth and gave the answer he thought Cecil wanted, and one where he was honest. What Nate had learned others wanted him to be, and what he wanted for himself. In each he now saw a personal failing. They twisted like snakes into knots until the end of one seemed the beginning of another, and every heartbeat punctuated another second of blatant shortcoming.

Lack of immediate condemnation paired with that singular demand — Why? — felt like a trap waiting to spring, and time, it seemed, was running short to form the best shape of himself.

Words pierced like arrows and at some point in their volley Nate started bleeding tears. Shame burned hot, he turned his face away and pulled lips back to show teeth in the same movement. It wasn't anyone, though, Cecil! It was me! He growled.

I know what I'm supposed to be, and it's plain what I'm not! Nate's voice cracked over the final word, and he stepped back, weak-kneed, fur bristling. Because you aren't supposed to see — any of it. This. That's why.

He shook his head. I came back. I thought I didn't want to, but I did, an' maybe that's a failin' too so — whatever it is you want outta me, I can't give it to you. And I'm sorry for that. Heart felt like a stone.

Words piled on words and Nate felt himself compress with each new stone Cecil piled upon the rest.

Nate heard condemnations for his arrogance, and an old life Cecil longed for that he could never provide. Cecil talked like their faults in any way compared — but Nate wasn't sure. No one called Cecil chief, they hadn't accepted the burden of all that demanded and —

And the ice. You want me to be mad at you? Nate shook his head, I'm not. He was. I shouldn't have run. I gave you a reason to be scared, to feel like that was the only choice you had.

Nate's head jerked sharply, claws dug into the earth. That's on me. Only reason we're having this conversation at all is 'cause I — I messed it up, alright? Every moment along the way to here, if I did the leading, that's on me.

Somewhere between the words Nate had risen to his feet and stalked the waterline, No one deserves seein' it. Why in the hell would Nate want anyone, ever, to see this! Especially someone he cared about! He didn't have the words for it. Only, Or bein' put through it. From here out I am to be better, so you don't need to worry about me runnin' off or — anything like that.

Nate licked his lip, ears flat, Don't blame yourself, alright? Please.

The impulse to walk away before a fresh wave of tears could ruin bold words was mounting. ...I want you to stay. But I understand if you don't.