Look me in the Eyes

The Effort

For the next few days, I began preparing myself for whatever I would face when Quinn returned and for the job of keeping the promise I'd made to Rolburn. This was mainly a mental struggle, carried on between conversations with Rolburn, meals and the rising and setting of the sun. I examined Quinn's behavior from every angle I could think of, not searching for reasons to despise him this time but for reasons to make some sort of peace.

Saving me from rain. After I had threatened to kill him, too. I could see no profit that he'd obtained by this action.

Caring for me instead of letting me die. Rolburn had given me many examples of Quinn's attention to me during my convalescence. Here, the only reward he could hope for was my hostility towards him to ease, which could not be characterized solely as the motivation of a murderer.

Continuing to care for me beyond basic treatment. The food I and Rolburn had received was more than what I expected, especially since much of what I was given was fruit, similar to what my people are in the End. He had no need to prepare it as he did, and certainly no need to pay attention to my personal tastes. This also could only serve to increase my friendliness towards him, but as it came as a consequence from the initial choice to save my life, I was once again unable to pin this choice as one with ill intent.

Asking if I needed anything while he was gone. Who asks their enemy that? Obviously he did not view me as an enemy, but now the question was: what am I to him? Why does he go so far beyond duty's call? Or does he consider this a part of his duty?

I sat in Quinn's small garden one afternoon, thinking these things over under the shadow of a large oak that had somehow managed to grow in the little earth that floated upon this pond it sat in. Rolburn knelt a few feet away, carefully harvesting grain and potatoes. The warm sun shone out from behind a scattering of clouds in the sky and the air bore the sharp scent of past rain. The flowers that adorned Quinn's roof glistened with the drops and nodded with the breeze that played with them. I watched their tossing heads for a while, losing myself in the simple rhythm.

"Quinn's crops must be so happy." Commented Rolburn. "They're growing so well."

"It is the rain that has gladdened them, I believe."

"Well," he replied, rubbing the dirt from a potato, "they look happy to me. Big and full of life. Humming from the ground they grew in."

I turned my eyes to the Piglin, watching him carefully place each harvested plant in the bucket he'd brought. He cared so much. Had he been like this before his transformation, or was this some kind of side effect on his mind? I decided to believe the former, since it seemed more likely that he too was a "Golden Heart", as he'd called Quinn, than that a rotting disease had made him this way. As for me...I was no Golden Heart. I held no illusions about that. But perhaps that was for the best for the both of us.

A cloud floated between us and the sun, dimming the rays that poured upon us and taking a little of the warmth. I looked up. Light filtered through the thin grey wisps, almost seeming to strain to reach the ground. Is forgiveness like that? Pushing to reach through the bitterness and hate that comes before it? I was not sure what conclusion to draw. Or if I should be drawing advice from the weather.

Rolburn came and sat down beside me. His bucket was full and sweat glistened on his skin. "More happy plants will grow." He murmured. His hand rested on mine. "They will always grow. Always come up and find a way to the sun. Warmth...."

A puzzled thought wove its way through my mind. "Rolburn, if you miss the warmth, why do you not want to go back to the Nether?"

The Piglin bowed his head. A tiny snuffle was his only reply. I patted his hand and let him be.