Shaak was no stranger to conflict. She wore the scars of it quietly on her heart and carried them like precious things to serve as lessons never to be forgotten. She spoke of them, sometimes, when she thought they might teach another. When she thought they might prove useful. Sometimes, just sharing was enough to aid. She was a deeply emphatic creature - had always been so - and it seemed a rare thing to find, sometimes.

Evening was creeping in on them, now, just half a mile away from the heart of the pride and, as the day had worn on, the patrol had filed out, one behind the other, the gaps growing longer and longer as the time dragged towards its end. This was not unusual, of course, except that at the very end of this line was Azar'bijan - a lion usually up at the front and pressing on with a tirelessness that was both admirable and worrying. Now he was lagging behind and, when she paused to look back at him, his head had dipped low, the points of his shoulders dark against the bright sky.

Shaak came to a slow halt and waited for him to draw up alongside her before continuing on, matching his haggard pace. She did not look at him when she spoke, her voice quiet so that even he would be forced to listen carefully.

"Pains weigh heavy on the heart," she murmured, "heavier still when they are stamped down into the dark."

He said nothing. She took that as a sign to continue.

"You have taught him well," she guessed at his troubles. She knew well enough of the argument that had transpired between him and his son. You didn't need to be a seer to know that. "He will fair better than others, I can assure you of that."

"You can assure me of nothing."

"I see it," she whispered softly, speaking so carefully as if afraid one wrong word would end this thing between them, "I know your fears. There is no need for pretence between us." She paused to give him time to speak and, when the silence stretched on too long, she continued gently, "have I not earned your trust, corporal?"

Still nothing.

"I had a son, once," her heart twisted to think of him, "he was born during great hardship. Such little food and me, isolated from my brethren. There was nothing that could be done for him. He was not long for this world and I was lost. Broken."

"Why would you tell me this?"

"I have lived through the loss that you fear. You think there might come a day when your son will no longer be there beside you. When he is but a memory, an image on the history stones. You fear living in that reality."

He lapsed into silence and for a time, so did the seer. She walked at his side - a lion's length away - and drifted as she did so, eyes half-lidded. Shaak knew that the Firekin did not trust seers. That they were wary of an inexplicable power that had such frightening potential. Perhaps if they knew she possessed such a gift they would regard her with mistrust and keep their distance. In a way she could not say she blamed them. Sometimes she regarded herself that way, too.

The past opened up before her, unfolding across the desert as if she were there. She saw snippets of them before they slipped away, one scene fading into another, a young Azar growing into an adult, gaining scars, gaining a deeper frown. Heartache, loss, struggle.

"You have loved and lost," she spoke, realising that it had been some time since any word had passed between them. The leading guard would be at the den's now and, shortly after, they would be there, too. "To live is to suffer loss, Azar'bijan. Without it, what reason do we have to strive and work? Your fear has made you angry and bitter, it pushes away those who only wish to help you. You hide your love for your son with coldness as if it is something to be ashamed of. There is no shame in loving another. In loving your family."

"He wants to leave his homeland."

"Not forever. Surely you must know this."

"How would you know?"

"He is not weak, Azar. He is gentle-spoken, perhaps, but he has your fierceness, too. He may love freely and openly but he can still strike to kill if the need calls. I have heard it said he gets his demeanour from his mother but, I'd say you had some part in it, too. His dedication. His strength of heart. The only difference? He doesn't treat everyone like they're out to get him."

"You know nothing," he spat, turning his head away.

"I know enough," she corrected gently. "You do not need to say anything, corporal. For you to listen would be enough. What you think of as weakness is, in truth, incredible strength. What could be more brave than to trust another? To love another? To speak of it even if you fear it's repercussions? If you let him go without saying goodbye, what then? You will let him go out into that world thinking that you hate him because you are too afraid to speak a kind word of encouragement? That will bring neither of you comfort when he is away and you are left here to patrol without him at your side."

"He knows," Azar bit back.

"Does he?" Shaak asked,"I would not be so certain."

Azar ground to an abrupt halt then, his eyes downcast, his body still. She stopped, too, turning her face into the wind rushing in at them from across the dunes. On it were the voices of her colleagues as they reached home and respite. Her ears twisted backwards as if to blot them out and, in the next moment, she decided to throw caution to the wind. Carefully, she closed the gap between them, touching her shoulder to his. The contact made him jump and when he swung his head up to look at her it took her great effort not to move away.

"What do I say?" he asked, his face like that of the young, confused cub she had seen in her vision.

"Truth," she whispered, "only truth."

/fin