Chiron, still rather chafed from how swiftly they had declined his generosity, didn't join in on the conversation at first. What he couldn't comprehend was what his friends were<i>doing.</i>Amal looked sad, which struck him as bizarre. Ethan was asleep, yes, but not dead. The little girl who had healed him had even promised he would be okay with a bit of rest. So why so pensive? And Harris, plainly the woman couldn't take a hint, but what was she on about, with usefulness and what sort of people were which? He used the rag that one of the villagers had given him to wipe at his sword again, but the scratches were too deep to come out of the golden face of his blade. He scowled at his own reflection in Atilla's otherwise flawless surface.<br/><br/>"Amal," he said, looking up at her. "Why do you wear such sorrow? I watch close, yes, I see. You... gah..." He lifted his hand and gestured, physically grasping for the words he knew that he knew. It was easy to mistake Chiron for a garrulous idiot, but that was only thanks to his difficulties with language. He hadn't mastered his own native tongue until the age of twelve, years after his fellows had worked out their letters and speech. They would be shocked to know he had even<i>begun</i>to learn another tongue. With a snap he found the terms he needed, and continued. "You wish to cry, yes? To weep for our friend, E'tan. But he will be well! So it has been promised. I do not see what there is to weep for."<br/><br/>Ethan sighed where he lay. "That, my loud friend, is because you don't know exactly what I did." The priest sat up with a small groan, and Chiron blinked. He still looked so tired... but they had been sitting there for a long time. Hours and hours. Long enough for Chiron to return to the beach only to find the ferry gone, returned to Kilika to retrieve supplies and aid and to spread word of Sin's return. The warrior stroked at the stubble on his chin as Ethan found a solid bit of wall to lean against, sitting up next to the mage and lifting her helpful moogle into his lap. He gave Chiron a tired look and an even more tired smile, but there was something sad in the expression. Chiron shrugged.<br/><br/>"Explain, then. Why does victory bring sorrow in Spira?"<br/><br/>---<br/><br/>Ethan's head ached like he had gone far too long without a drink. His throat was parched, and the last thing he felt like doing was detailing how he had just pledged his life to a doomed cause. It was ironic, really. Ethan had always thought that the entire act of summoning was foolish. That giving one's life to destroy Sin was no true countermeasure. And yet when given the choice--to find another way or to embrace the path--what had he decided? He looked down at his hands as they lay in his lap, flexing his fingertips slowly on the plush little doll as he pondered the best way to answer his friend. But where in the world did anyone have an easy way to share their own impending death?<br/><br/>"It's complicated," he said instead. "Very complicated, and I'm too tired to explain it in detail right now. I will eventually, but for now," he trailed off and looked around, then tilted his head toward the line of men and women trooping into the half-destroyed hamlet, carrying jugs and crates and more. "For now, could you and Harris see about some food and water for us? My mouth hasn't been this dry since the first time I tried to mount a chocobo." He stayed quiet until the two of them got up to do as he asked. He watched until they were fully engaged with helping the survivors before he turned his attention to Amal.<br/><br/>"I'm sorry for worrying you," he said quietly, slumping forward and folding his hands in his lap. "I can't imagine it was very... heartening to see me run away when you were all fighting tooth and nail against that thing." He paused and one eyebrow arched up. "It's not true that you were sitting here looking sad, is it? For someone you barely know?" He tried to smile, to make light of what he had done. "For all you know you just saw the next High Summoner in action. I think a more apropos response would be awe." With the last bit he put a purposefully playful snobby tone to his words, bobbing his head like he'd seen Augustin do when lecturing someone else. Somewhat belatedly he held her moogle out to her. "Here. Thanks to both of you for the sacrifice."