“Sad, probably,” he answered.

That’s all he had to say. He felt he wasn’t allowed to be frustrated or angry when she didn’t seem to listen to his words. Their last argument started off in the same manner, calm. He only got angry when she wasn’t hearing what he was saying, picking apart his argument in ways that deflected blame to other things but herself, as if he hadn’t considered the other things either. He wasn’t allowed to speak bluntly, he wasn’t allowed to be angry with her otherwise she would take it to offense. It was not his intention, whether she knew it or not, but instead of showing understanding, she showed something else.

It was wasted breath speaking in defense of himself, in rebuttal. Anything he said was deflected elsewhere or back onto him, it was his fault for this or that, but not her own. It was his fault he failed to keep his cool against her deflective arguments, that’s all it sounded like after so long. Arguments were not fair to him and his inhumanity.

Noah took a breath to ease his mind, ran a hand through his hair, anything to alleviate the tension in his own being. It wasn’t just the tension in his being he sought to calm, but the growing tension in the air around them and in the winds. No strong gusts had burst through the clearing at them, but his growing unease and shifting depressive state threw the sylphs into confusion.