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Ori brightened. “Yeah, let’s. I don’t want to get stuck staring at other people’s butts like last year.” “I think you’ve grown past butt height this year,” Eijeh said. “Now you’re at mid-back, maybe.” “Oh good, because I definitely put on this dress for my aunt so I could stare at a bunch of backs.” Ori rolled her eyes.
I saw, for the first time, how thin the line was between fear and love, between reverence and adoration.
“Honor,” I said with a snort. “Honor has no place in survival.”
“All people are violent. Some resist the impulse, and some don’t. Better to acknowledge it, to use it as a point of access to the rest of your being, than to lie to yourself about it.”
“You don’t make any sense to me,” I said to him. “It’s like the more terrible things you find out about a person, or the more terrible a person is to you, the kinder you are to them. It’s masochism.”
“It’s s’posed to be me saving you,” Eijeh whispered at one point. Or the closest to a whisper as he could get; he’d always been terrible at sneaking. “Who says? Some kind of manual on brotherly conduct?” Eijeh had laughed. “You didn’t read yours? Typical.”
“Let me cook, okay?” He took the pot from her. The water sloshed, spilling on his shoes. “I guarantee I won’t set anything on fire.” “That happened one time,” she said. “I’m not a walking, talking hazard.”
“Hard to think of a man like that being afraid.” “Yeah, well, we’re all afraid.” I sighed. “The angry more than most, I think.”
“‘I tell lies better than I tell truths,’”
“You want to see people as extremes. Bad or good, trustworthy or not,” I said. “I understand. It’s easier that way. But that isn’t how people work.”
