"Thou art most correct," Asleif told him. "Though I too, wouldst never admit to any other than any might read me so well."
How to put into words what she felt? She was alone, different from any other of her family. She held affection for them, wouldst mourn them greatly were they to pass, even if she would never speak the words to them aloud. She did hope that they knew that.
Or worse, the jealousy that she felt? The others adapted to readily to the challenges of this strange realm, leaving her to feel ever more apart and separate than they.
"Thou makest this realm most bearable for me, Vincent. You have mine deepest thanks for that."
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