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Hestia slowed her steps just a little, letting his words settle between them like falling leaves. The last stretch of daylight caught along her shoulders, warm gold bleeding into pale cream, and she glanced his way with a softness that never quite dimmed — even when she saw the tired look tucked behind his smile.

You’re not wrong, she said quietly, her tone gentle but threaded with something older, something lived-in. There’s a comfort in questions. They keep you moving. Keep you curious. Her gaze drifted up through the branches where a few stubborn leaves still clung, glowing orange in the fading light. Mortals always looked to the sky for answers, she remembered, an echo tugging at her chest. Even when the heavens never gave them any.

But there’s also a danger in pretending you don’t want the answers, she added, her voice softening even more. Sometimes we convince ourselves we prefer the wondering… because the truth feels heavier than the not-knowing.

She didn’t look at him when she said it, though she felt his meaning as clearly as the cold creeping through the forest. Dreams that die quietly. Hopes folded small. A man who carries grief like it’s stitched into his skin.

Her steps stayed easy, unhurried. Lonely or not, that space between question and answer? she murmured, You don’t have to sit in it by yourself. She tilted her head, offering him the faintest, warmest smile — the kind that didn’t push, only welcomed. You’re walking beside someone now, even if it’s just for the night.

The trees opened ahead of them to reveal a break in the undergrowth, the sound of the stream clearer now — water running over stones, steady and familiar. She motioned toward it with a small flick of her muzzle. There’s our water, she said. Cold, but clean. And a little patch of dry earth near the roots there — perfect for a warm nest to sleep in.

Then she looked at him fully, her robin-blue eyes gentle but knowing, like she could see past what he said into whatever he wasn’t saying. You know, she went on, her voice low and warm, answers aren’t the enemy. It’s the fear of what they might change.

Her tail brushed lightly behind her, almost an absent gesture. And if the answers you’ve been given haven’t been kind to you… she let out a breath, thoughtful, maybe you just asked the wrong sky.

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