He let her go, shoving his hands into his pockets and heading in the opposite direction with a characteristic lack of a goodbye. As soon as he was a safe distance away he scrubbed irritably at his chin and hoped that that would never, ever happen again.
She will make friends that aren't you, said Fiona suddenly, chiding.
I don't ******** care.
Except that you do, she corrected him gently.
It isn't fair to her.He said nothing, irritated at having a Jiminy Cricket auditing his thought processes, irritated at realizing he'd been worried, irritated at realizing he cared about how someone spent their time. He tried to analyze the root of the issue--to decide whether it was his particular dislike of Solomon that was influencing his feelings--and decided, as he always did, that looking inwards was the road to unhappiness. Better to forget it. Better to not think about it, no matter how hard Fiona tried to get him to do otherwise.
He felt the restless, uneasy stirring in his head that nearly always preceded Fiona telling him something he wouldn't want to hear, and pressed the heels of his hands to his eyelids.
Shutting her out--a process which was never complete, could never be complete, but at which he was growing increasingly adept--he paused at the edge of the training fields before lurching into a determined run.
Don't think. Don't plan. Just do things, one after the other, and hope that they all pan out.
And never mind who gets caught in the wheels.
Beejoux
as requested, a wrap post of INTROSPECTION
