Grip: “I see. And you don’t think you’ll be able to gain your parents’ approval at all?”
Upon seeing the disheartened, little face, Grip almost regretted his words. He well remembered how he had left his family. How the desire to do so had grown and grown, and waged war with the part of himself that wanted his mum, his brothers and sisters, his home. Spade had made it worth it.
Spade was gone.
Grip: “I should feed that cat, that comes visiting every now and then. The one that hates everybody else.”
Sand: “Huh?”
Grip: “Don’t worry about it. There’s always one place where you’ll be welcome. Besides here, of course.”
Sand: “And where’s that.”
Grip: “Well, think about it. Who else lives on the outskirts of town, who else is shunned and avoided and ... disliked?”
Sand: “... fairies.”
Grip: “Fairies. If you feel like you have to leave ... leave. If you want to try one more time to fit in with them, do that instead. That’s my honest advice: Do what feels right. When you’re reduced to your failures, eventually you can only turn to the gods of the wild, that hunt in the dark and care not enough to reveal themselves. But I wouldn’t want you to try that, unless you’re really, really sure.”
Sand: “You know what? I’m not that sure yet. But uhm ... thanks. For listening and everything.”
Grip: “No problem at all.”
