will that make you happy?
Gale pauses, and the world, the hour, grows in heft.
Blasted Karlach, he mournfully thinks, with her heart so big and bursting with love. Of course, sat alone in the camp, her lingering concern had largely festered. He'd grown sullen of late, ever sparse with his ramblings that'd poured and poured like a stream through a dam, and this quiet that pervaded the shadows in this hellscape? It's so novel, too new, and rife with fear.
Gale is doomed to die.
Gale would heed his dear goddess.
But his heart is still trembling, struggling with its pulse like a pump slow to sluice, and it jutters in his chest with all the likeness of a rotor. Dying... Oh. His hands, like his words, are so tempted to shake.
"Of course it wouldn't," Gale shares with her, working carefully at the parts to his oh so darling spyglass, "but I'm not entirely convinced that my opinion on the matter bears any meaningful weight." Never. He peers up, Karlach burning through the dreary of these Shadow-Cursed Lands. So bright and brilliant despite the horrors laid before them...in more ways than one, he's sat openly admiring. "I'd be far less thrilled were I to condemn you to the selfishness of a foolish wizard," he mutters. "I must do this. Many as my regrets are, I won't count that guilt among them."