Kynthia cries. She sits by the window and her tears fall hard. Argus cannot console her. I had no idea the effect my leaving would have on this child. Argus too is moved, especially when he learns of my plans. I sat next to the girl, to ease her sorrow, but my hands were trained for killing, not comfort. I told her to think of all the happiness that awaits her, the joys, the friends, her family. And that when she cannot see those things that she must look as far as she can - look there, beyond the dark hills, and you will see a light. And it matters not if we ever find that light, but that we should simply know it is there, waiting for us. Kynthia cries, as do I.
- Sorren
“He openly states that he is leaving. This idea is no longer an abstraction. But who is Argus? And who is this girl to which he refers? It is curious to me that he is unable to console this small child, for he says that his hands were made for killing. But I know that there is tenderness in his heart, he has spread it across these leaves in abundance, and he has opened his soul to be revealed. I no longer fear this servant, this man, for I know that his heart is pure, even in the absence of Christ. This is something I cannot abide though I will not denounce this man to the Church. Surely he would be made to understand the error of his ways, but I cannot become the instrument of that fate. Fate is inexorable . . .I fear fate even though it be written before I was born. I pray that he does not say where he is going, for I do not wish to follow him, and may the Lord forgive me.”
Of course Sorren has friends outside of the Castle and outside the scope of his responsibilities to the King, I’m glad that he does. And why shouldn’t he? I like this. Sorren has a life outside of his station, and it is important to him. Kynthia cries when she learns he is leaving. That says much about his character, and we should all be lucky to be so loved. She must be a very fragile and delicate girl, but this is a heartwarming sentiment in my opinion, for it shows vulnerability and the need for compassion.
But this opinion is lost in the world in which I live. My world is loud and brash and cynical, and to express such tender feelings is a sign of weakness. In my world we are taught to be independent. We are expected to be independent and strong. Tenderness is weakness, and our weaknesses are to be either brought up and discussed in special meetings with support groups and sponsors, or it is to be borne with steadfast temperance, somewhere in the privacy of our own room, away from other people that don’t especially want to hear about our personal problems. Only between true friends can we let down our guard, but even friendship in this world is perverted. These days we have networking friends, which are friends that help to motivate you and accomplish goals; in return for this friendship, you similarly help your friend accomplish his or her goals. True friends need nothing from you, nor do they take anything from you, and a true friend does not betray you.
Sorren leaves her with an expression of hope. A light beyond the dark hills is a great metaphor, and I am only taking a guess here on what it means. I believe that he is referring to his understanding on God. This is a pantheistic expression, and I love the way it is purposely vague, just like the understanding of the divinity of nature itself, for in Sorren’s mind, nature is part of God, nature is God. God is all things, the forest, the creatures, the sky, the sea . . .