Private A Different Kind of Strength

[Nitya Xeraic]

Nitya walked beside him in thoughtful silence for a few moments, letting his words settle rather than rushing to answer. The path curved upward through alternating bands of sunlight and shade, the monastery breathing around them in its quiet, unhurried rhythm. Farther down the terraces, the voices of students beginning their morning lessons drifted through the air, blending with the rustle of leaves and the soft murmur of water moving through the irrigation channels. It was a peaceful sound, one that seemed to invite reflection rather than conversation.

When she finally glanced toward him, the warmth in her expression no longer carried the careful distance it had when they first met. "I think most people spend so much time protecting what already exists that they rarely stop to ask what they would create if given the opportunity." Her gaze moved to the gardens surrounding them, trees that had taken decades to mature, stone walls softened by flowering vines, beds of herbs tended by generations of hands. Everywhere she looked, she saw the quiet evidence of patience.

"Protection matters," she said softly. "More than many people realize. Everything you see here exists because someone protected it long enough for it to become something more. Growth is not a replacement for survival. It is what survival makes possible." When she looked back at him, her smile held a quiet sincerity. "Which is why I never doubted you could learn this. You already understand commitment, discipline, and patience. Most people think gardening is about plants. It is mostly about returning."

The breeze stirred her hair as they approached the stone building ahead. She slowed without thinking, matching his pace as naturally as breathing. When he spoke of wanting to learn what he could help grow rather than what he could protect, something in her eyes brightened with quiet approval. "That may be the most important difference of all." There was no lesson in her tone, only agreement, honest, unforced, and touched with curiosity.

"You know," she added, a trace of amusement softening her voice, "when you first arrived, I expected you would spend several days studying this place before deciding whether you trusted it." A soft laugh escaped her, warm and genuine. "Instead, you accepted tea, adopted a garden, and volunteered yourself for philosophical conversations before noon." The teasing was gentle, but the fondness beneath it was unmistakable. "I am beginning to suspect you are more adaptable than you give yourself credit for."

By then, they had reached the doorway of the seed store. Nitya rested her hand against the weathered frame before stepping inside, the scent of dried herbs, earth, and old wood greeting them immediately. Shelves lined the walls, filled with carefully labeled containers gathered from across Oralis Prime and from worlds neither of them had likely visited, vegetables, medicinal herbs, flowering plants in every imaginable color, each one carrying a story of where it had come from and who had tended it before.

She paused just inside and looked back at him, her voice warm with invitation. "Come. Let us see what sort of future you are inclined to plant."

Then, after the briefest pause, her smile deepened with quiet humor.

"And try not to choose anything carnivorous."

Marrok Vorr

 

[Marrok Vorr]

Objective: Get more help along a new path
Location: Oralis Prime
Outfit: Gray Robes
Tags: Nitya Xeraic

Marrok listened as they walked, his attention lingering on her observation longer than he initially expected. Growth is what survival makes possible. There was a simplicity to it that made it difficult to argue against. For years he had treated survival as the destination. The objective. The measure of success.

Yet standing here, surrounded by evidence of decades of care, he found himself confronting the possibility that survival had only ever been the foundation. A necessary beginning. Not an ending.

His gaze drifted across the terraces once more. The gardens suddenly seemed less passive than they had earlier. Not merely alive. Intentional. When she spoke of returning, a faint smile touched his expression. “Returning,” he repeated quietly.

Of all the skills she had listed, that was the one he had not anticipated. Discipline. Patience. Commitment. Those were familiar companions. Returning was different. Returning implied attachment. Choice. The willingness to come back when nothing compelled you to do so.

He found that thought unexpectedly appealing. Her teasing earned a low laugh from him. A genuine one. “My faith in the lessons imparted upon me for much of my life had been waning for some time. That is why I came here. Looking for guidance to another path,” Marrok stated softly. “I feel compelled to point out, however, that the tea was very persuasive.”

His eyes drifted toward her, amusement lingering. “And in my defense, I was led into the philosophical conversations under somewhat false pretenses.” A beat passed. “Had I known gardening was merely an elaborate recruitment strategy for self-reflection, I might have been more cautious.”

The humor softened. Though the truth was he wouldn't have been. Not anymore. The observation that he might be more adaptable than he believed settled warmly. He had spent so much of his life defining himself through consistency that adaptation often felt suspiciously close to compromise. Now he wasn't so certain.

Perhaps flexibility and integrity were not opposites. Perhaps growth required both. As they entered the seed store, Marrok paused just inside the doorway.

The scent hit him first. Earth. Wood. Dried herbs. Life preserved in anticipation of becoming something else. His eyes moved slowly across the shelves, lingering over containers and labels with a kind of fascination he would never have predicted a day ago.

Each one represented possibility. Potential waiting for attention. Waiting for someone to return. The realization struck him with surprising force.

When Nitya spoke again, inviting him to choose a future, Marrok found himself smiling before he could stop it. The phrase should have sounded absurd. Instead it felt strangely accurate.

His gaze moved over the rows of seeds, thoughtful. Then her final warning reached him. He looked at her. The smile broadened slightly. “That's disappointing.” His tone was perfectly serious. “For a moment I thought cultivating a carnivorous plant might allow me to combine my previous skill set with my new one.”

A brief pause followed. Then his eyes returned to the shelves. “Though I suppose if the goal is growth rather than survival, I should probably choose something less inclined to consume its neighbors.”

His gaze lingered over the collection, but he found himself speaking before selecting anything. “There are too many possibilities.” The admission was quiet. Honest. Not overwhelmed. Just aware.

“For most of my life the correct choice was usually obvious, in my eyes. Limited. Defined by circumstance.” He looked back toward her. “This feels different.”

A small silence followed. Then, with a faint warmth in his expression: “Though if choosing reveals something about the person making the choice...” his eyes moved back to the shelves, "I suspect I should be careful.”

The humor lingered only briefly before something more thoughtful emerged. “Or perhaps not.” For the first time in a very long while, Marrok found himself wanting the choice to reveal something. Not about the warrior he had been. But about the person he might become.

Marrok studied the rows of seeds and saplings for several long moments before his attention settled on a small fruit tree waiting for transplant. It wasn't the most practical choice. It would take years before it produced anything worthwhile.

Years.

Once, that would have been enough reason to dismiss it entirely. Instead, he found himself stepping closer. "This one," he said quietly. Because a tree wasn't planted for tomorrow. It was planted because you expected to return.

 

[Nitya Xeraic]

Nitya watched him move through the seed store, her attention less on the shelves than on the way he approached them. Earlier that morning, he would have treated the decision like a tactical problem, something to be solved through efficiency and elimination until only the correct answer remained. Now he wandered among possibilities instead, moving from one shelf to the next without forcing certainty from uncertainty. The change was subtle enough that a stranger might never have noticed it, but to Nitya it felt significant. She had spent the morning watching him loosen his grip on habits that had once defined his life, and nowhere was that more apparent than here. He was allowing himself not to know. He was allowing himself to consider.

Her smile deepened when he tried to defend himself against the tea. "I should have known better than to underestimate its influence," she replied with mock gravity. "The tea has been quietly recruiting people into self‑reflection for generations. We simply take credit for its successes." The humor lingered as she watched him study the rows of seeds and saplings, struck not by his uncertainty but by the absence of the frustration that would once have accompanied it. He was not trying to force an answer into existence. He was letting the decision emerge in its own time, and she suspected he was learning more from that than he realized.

When he admitted there were too many possibilities, she nodded. "That feeling never entirely disappears." Her gaze drifted across the shelves, taking in the countless futures resting dormant inside paper packets and clay pots. "There are always more possibilities than any one life can contain. Eventually, we stop asking which choice is perfect and begin asking which one feels worth returning to." It was a philosophy woven through every corner of the monastery: that meaning came not from choosing the ideal path, but from choosing where to place one's care and returning often enough for that care to matter.

His honesty about limited choices and defined paths moved her more than she expected. There was a quiet courage in watching someone stand before an open future after years spent confined by necessity, not the dramatic kind sung about in stories, but something gentler and far rarer. When he stopped walking, she followed his gaze to a young fruit tree resting among several others. At first glance, it was unremarkable, slender, and flexible with youth, years away from offering shade or fruit. It was not the practical choice. It was not the most efficient choice. Which was why, the moment he spoke, understanding settled across her expression.

"Most people choose herbs first," she said softly as she stepped beside him. "Something useful. Something quick. Something that rewards their effort within a single season." Her eyes lingered on the sapling before lifting to him. "You chose the one thing in the room that requires faith." There was no judgment in her voice, only admiration. Her fingertips brushed a leaf with gentle care. "A tree asks for patience in a different way. You care for it, knowing much of its future exists beyond your reach. Some of what it becomes may not even be for you. The fruit may feed people you have never met. The shade may shelter someone years from now. You plant it because you believe there will be a future worth growing into."

Sunlight filtered through the windows, scattering shifting patterns across the floor. For a moment, she looked not at the sapling but at him. "At the beginning of this morning, I think you would have convinced yourself this was the impractical choice." Warmth deepened in her expression. "I am glad you chose it anyway. I think it will suit you." Something in her tone suggested she meant more than the tree.

Then, perhaps sensing her own thoughts drifting too far, she stepped back with a small smile. "Now comes the difficult part. You have to decide what kind of tree you want to plant. I, unfortunately, cannot make that decision for you."

Marrok Vorr

 

[Marrok Vorr]

Objective: Get more help along a new path
Location: Oralis Prime
Outfit: Gray Robes
Tags: Nitya Xeraic

Marrok stood quietly beside the sapling, his gaze resting on its slender trunk as Nitya spoke. He found himself listening less to the words themselves than to the shape of the truth beneath them.

Which one feels worth returning to.

That was such a strange way to make a decision. And yet, standing here, it felt more meaningful than half the strategic frameworks he had relied upon throughout his life. For years he had chosen based on necessity. Risk. Probability. Need.

This was the first time in a very long while he had chosen something simply because he wanted a future with it. The realization settled warmly in his chest.

Her comment about the tea drew another quiet laugh from him. "I knew it." He shook his head slightly. "The tea was clearly operating with hidden intent from the beginning."

The dry humor lingered as he glanced toward her. "I should have requested a full briefing before accepting it." The smile remained for a moment before his attention returned to the sapling.

When she spoke about faith, however, the humor faded into thoughtfulness. Marrok was silent for several moments. Long enough that he became aware of the sunlight shifting across the floorboards beside them. Long enough to recognize that her observation had struck something deeper than he expected.

Finally, he exhaled. "That's the strange part." His voice was quieter now. "Until recently, I would have told you that faith was something I understood."

His eyes remained on the young tree. "I was a Jedi. I trusted the Force. I believed in duty, in service, in the idea that our actions mattered." A faint pause followed. "But standing here..."

He shook his head slightly. "I'm beginning to realize how often I replaced faith with action." The admission came slowly. Carefully. As though he was examining it while speaking.

"If something worried me, I acted. If something felt uncertain, I prepared. If something mattered, I took responsibility for it." His gaze lowered briefly to his hands. "I called it faith because the intentions were good."

A small breath escaped him. "But perhaps faith would have been allowing some things to unfold without trying to control every outcome."

His attention returned to the sapling. A tree. Years of growth. A future he could not entirely shape. People he would never meet benefiting from choices made today. The concept should have felt uncomfortable. Instead, he found it oddly reassuring. For once, the future did not need to be secured through vigilance alone. It simply needed to be given the chance to arrive.

When Nitya said she was glad he had chosen it, Marrok looked toward her. The warmth in her expression caught him more effectively than any philosophical observation had. For a moment, he found himself studying her rather than the tree. The sincerity. The quiet approval. The ease that seemed to exist around her as naturally as sunlight around the monastery.

He suspected she meant more than the tree. And he suspected she knew he understood that. The realization left him unexpectedly pleased. "I think," he said softly, "the version of me who arrived here this morning would have argued against it for at least an hour."

A faint smile touched his mouth. "He would have produced several excellent reasons why a medicinal herb was the superior choice." His eyes drifted back to the sapling. "He also would have been wrong."

Then came the difficult question. What kind of tree? Marrok studied the collection for a moment longer. Not looking for the correct answer. Just listening to what felt right. A strange process. One he was slowly learning to trust. Eventually, he stepped toward a young fruit-bearing variety, one whose eventual harvest would feed far more people than himself.

His hand rested lightly against the edge of its container. "This one." The decision felt remarkably calm. Not forced. Chosen.

He glanced toward Nitya again. "If the lesson is learning to grow something beyond myself..." A small pause followed. "Then it seems appropriate to choose something whose purpose is to eventually nourish others."

His expression softened slightly. "And if I'm fortunate..." His gaze returned briefly to the tree. "...perhaps I'll still be around when it bears its first fruit."

The thought carried a different kind of hope than he was accustomed to. Not hope for survival. Hope for continuation. And for the first time, Marrok found himself genuinely wanting to believe in it.

 

[Nitya Xeraic]

Nitya stood quietly beside him as he spoke, her attention resting on him with the same patient steadiness she had offered since morning. The seed store felt almost unnaturally still now, sunlight filtering through the windows in soft bands of gold that illuminated drifting motes of dust and the countless small futures waiting on the surrounding shelves. She didn't interrupt when his words slowed. She had begun to notice that his most important thoughts often arrived that way, not as declarations but as careful realizations, as though he preferred to examine an idea from every angle before allowing it to belong to him.

When he spoke of faith, her expression softened not because she thought he was wrong, but because she suspected he had finally reached the question beneath the question. For a long moment, she said nothing at all. Then she looked down at the young tree resting between them. "I do not think action and faith are enemies," she said quietly. "Sometimes action is how faith expresses itself." Her fingers brushed lightly across one of the leaves before withdrawing again. "But there is a difference between caring for something and believing you are solely responsible for its existence." There was no criticism in her tone, only understanding. "I think you learned that if something mattered, then it was your responsibility to hold it together. To protect it. To anticipate every danger before it arrived." A faint smile touched her lips. "And I suspect that belief served you very well for a very long time."

Her gaze lifted toward him. "But eventually responsibility can become so familiar that it begins to occupy places where trust once lived." The observation settled gently between them, not a lesson, not an argument, simply something to consider. When he admitted that the man who had arrived that morning would have spent an hour arguing for medicinal herbs, a quiet laugh escaped her. "Yes," she said with complete sincerity. "I believe he would have prepared charts." The warmth in her eyes brightened. "Possibly several charts." She could picture it easily: the version of him who measured every choice by utility, who treated uncertainty as a problem to solve rather than a possibility to explore, who might never have chosen something simply because it felt meaningful.

Her attention returned to the fruit tree he had selected. Of all the options available, she found herself unsurprised by this one as well. Even now, after everything he had admitted, his instinct remained outward‑facing. He thought about nourishment. About the contribution. About what might benefit others long after his own immediate needs had been met. There was something quietly beautiful about that. When he explained his reasoning, the warmth in her expression deepened. "I think that is exactly why you chose it," she said softly. "You see yourself as someone who protects people. Even now, when you are trying to imagine a different future, your instinct is still to nurture rather than possess."

Her eyes lingered on the sapling for a moment before returning to him. "A fruit tree is patient. It spends years becoming what it was meant to be. It does not rush its purpose." A faint smile curved her lips. "Which means it may end up teaching you as much as I do." The humor softened into something quieter when he spoke of still being present for its first harvest. For reasons she could not entirely explain, that simple hope touched her more deeply than any grand declaration could have. Perhaps because it was not really about the tree. It was about allowing himself to imagine a future where he remained. A future that stretched beyond survival. A future worth returning to.

Nitya's gaze held his for a moment, gentle and unguarded. "I hope you are," she said quietly, and for a moment her attention lingered on him rather than the sapling between them. "I think this place would be better for it, and I'd like to see what this becomes." The words were simple, entirely sincere. Then her smile returned, lighter this time. "And when it finally bears fruit, I expect you to share." A small pause followed. "After all, I am the one who introduced you to the dangerously persuasive tea."

Marrok Vorr

 

[Marrok Vorr]

Objective: Get more help along a new path
Location: Oralis Prime
Outfit: Gray Robes
Tags: Nitya Xeraic

Marrok listened carefully, his gaze resting on the young tree between them as Nitya spoke. He found himself turning her words over slowly, examining them not for flaws but for truth. Action and faith were not enemies. He nodded slightly. “I think you're right.”

His voice was thoughtful, absent of the certainty that would have accompanied such an admission only a day earlier. “Action can absolutely be an expression of faith.” A faint pause followed. “The problem is that I convinced myself every action was faith.”

His eyes lowered briefly. “In truth, a great deal of it was paranoia.”

The word felt strangely liberating once spoken aloud. Not self-condemnation. Recognition. “I was always looking for the next danger. The next failure point. The next thing that might collapse if I wasn't watching closely enough.”

A quiet breath escaped him. “Some of that was responsibility. Some of it was experience.” His gaze lifted toward her again. “But some of it was fear pretending to be wisdom.”

The admission settled between them without shame. Only honesty. “And I think that's the part I'm trying to stop.”

When she agreed with his mention charts, the seriousness broke almost immediately. Marrok let out a genuine laugh. This time there was no restraint in it. “There absolutely would have been several charts.”

His hand made a small gesture through the air. “Comparative growth rates. Yield projections. Maintenance requirements. Seasonal risk assessments.” Another low chuckle escaped him. “Nothing was done prior to now without being very sure.”

The humor lingered warmly. “And somehow I suspect that version of me would have completely missed the point.”

His attention returned to the sapling as Nitya spoke of why she believed he had chosen it. The observation touched something in him. He had not consciously thought of it in those terms. Yet hearing it spoken aloud, he recognized the truth immediately.

His instinct had never really been possession. It had always been stewardship. Protection. Helping something continue. The difference now was that he was finally imagining a future beyond merely keeping things intact.

A fruit tree is patient. It spends years becoming what it was meant to be. Marrok found himself studying the slender trunk with newfound appreciation. Not for what it was. For what it represented. A future that unfolded gradually. A purpose that could not be rushed. Something that became itself through time rather than force. There was a lesson there.

Perhaps several.

And for once he did not feel compelled to extract them immediately. When Nitya said she hoped he would still be here, that the monastery would be better for it, Marrok felt something settle quietly inside him. Not surprise. Not even embarrassment. Just warmth. Simple and direct.

His gaze met hers and remained there for a moment longer than either of them might have allowed earlier that morning. “I'd like to see what it becomes too.”

The words came softly. And they were not entirely about the tree. Then her demand for future fruit drew a faint smile back to his face. “Ah.” His tone carried mock understanding. “So this was all a long-term acquisition strategy.”

He nodded solemnly. “The tea. The philosophical guidance. The gardening lessons.” A small pause. “You've been securing future fruit rights from the beginning.”

The smile lingered. Then softened. “I think that's a fair arrangement.”

For a moment he simply stood there, looking at the young tree. Then he reached out with the Force. Not as a weapon. Not as a tool of defense. Just a gentle extension of intention. The sapling rose carefully from its place among the others, floating through the air with deliberate precision until it settled lightly into his waiting hands.

Marrok looked down at it. A future. Small enough to hold. Large enough to change him. Then his eyes lifted toward Nitya once more. There was no hesitation now. Only quiet certainty. “Will you help me plant it?”

 

[Nitya Xeraic]

Nitya watched him quietly as he spoke, her attention lingering not on the sapling but on the honesty behind his words. There was something profoundly different about hearing a man like Marrok speak of fear without trying to disguise it as strength. Most people spent years constructing stories around their wounds, wrapping them in nobler language so they would be easier to live beside. Marrok seemed to be doing the opposite. Piece by piece, he was stripping those stories away and examining what remained underneath them. She suspected that it required more courage than many battles ever had.

When he admitted that some of what he had called wisdom had really been fear, her expression softened. There was no satisfaction in being proven right, only a quiet appreciation for the trust required to say such a thing aloud. "I think most people discover that eventually," she said gently. "The fortunate ones discover it before fear convinces them it is the only way they can survive." Her gaze drifted toward the young tree resting in his hands. "The habits that protect us are rarely the problem. The difficulty begins when we forget they were meant to serve us and start serving them instead." The observation settled naturally into the stillness between them, neither heavy nor demanding, simply another truth offered for consideration.

His laughter about charts drew a smile from her. "Several charts?" she repeated, amusement warming her voice. "Only several?" She shook her head lightly. "No. I think there would have been appendices." The image came to her far too easily: comparative growth rates, maintenance schedules, projected harvest outputs, all carefully organized and thoroughly reviewed. The warmth between them eased further as she imagined it. There was something reassuring about his company now, not because he was simple to understand, but because he was making the effort to understand himself.

When he spoke of future fruit rights and long-term acquisition strategies, the smile remained. "You discovered my plan," she replied. "The monastery survives almost entirely through carefully managed produce agreements. The tea is merely phase one." The humor lingered for another moment before softening as she watched the sapling rise gently into his hands. What caught her attention was not the use of the Force itself. She had seen countless people move objects through the Force. It was the way he did it. There was no urgency in the motion, no demonstration of skill, no need to prove competence. The tree settled into his hands with a care that revealed far more about him than any explanation ever could.

For a moment, she found herself looking at him rather than the sapling, noticing how naturally that gentleness emerged when he stopped believing everything needed to be defended. Then came his question. Will you help me plant it? Something warm stirred quietly in her chest. The request was simple, but the answer felt equally simple. "Yes." The word came without hesitation, without qualification, without the careful consideration she usually gave most things. A faint smile touched her lips as she stepped closer, her hand briefly brushing the side of the container while she examined the young tree.

"I would like that," she said softly. Her eyes lifted to meet his, and there was warmth there, but also something steadier. Something that felt very much like a promise. "Besides, it would be a poor lesson if I handed you a future and then left you to figure it out alone." The words were light, but entirely sincere. She had offered him a place here, a plot of earth to care for, and the possibility of something that might outlast both the morning and the reasons that had first brought him to the monastery. It seemed only natural that she should help him begin.

Her gaze drifted briefly toward the terraces outside, where sunlight spilled across the gardens, and the plot they had already chosen waited patiently for its first occupant. The image brought another small smile to her face before she looked back at him. "Fortunately," she added, a thread of humor returning to her voice, "we have already solved the most difficult part. You have a place for it, which means neither of us will need to spend the afternoon debating soil conditions, irrigation patterns, or whether your fruit tree would thrive better three meters to the left." Her eyes brightened with amusement. "Though I suspect the version of you from this morning would have enjoyed that discussion far more than either of us should admit."

Marrok Vorr

 

[Marrok Vorr]

Objective: Get more help along a new path
Location: Oralis Prime
Outfit: Gray Robes
Tags: Nitya Xeraic

Marrok listened quietly, the sapling resting lightly in his hands as Nitya spoke. There was something strangely reassuring about hearing her describe the difference between habits serving a person and a person serving their habits. He could see the truth of it now with uncomfortable clarity.

For years he had believed vigilance was a choice. Only recently had he begun to recognize how often it had become a reflex. A requirement. A master.

His gaze lowered briefly to the young tree. "It is an unpleasant realization," he admitted quietly. "Discovering that something which once protected you has slowly become the thing deciding how you live."

A faint breath escaped him. "But I suppose unpleasant realizations are still preferable to remaining blind to them." There was no bitterness in the words. Only acceptance.

The mention of appendices earned an immediate chuckle. Marrok actually shook his head. "That's fair." The amusement lingered in his expression. "There would have been appendices." His eyes narrowed slightly in mock contemplation. "Possibly supplementary charts."

A pause. "Cross-referenced." The smile that followed came easily. "And color coded." For perhaps the first time that morning, he could look at the person he had been only hours ago and feel something other than obligation toward him. Not embarrassment. Not regret. Just distance. As though he was looking at someone he understood, but no longer entirely inhabited.

When she agreed to help him plant the tree, something warm settled in his chest. The simplicity of the answer affected him more than he expected. Yes. No hesitation. No negotiation. No conditions. Just presence.

Marrok found himself studying her for a moment longer than intended. The sincerity in her expression. The ease with which she offered companionship. The growing realization that she seemed to mean exactly what she said.

His gaze softened slightly. "Thank you." The words were quiet. Entirely genuine.

When she spoke about not leaving him to figure it out alone, his attention lingered on her a moment longer. There it was again. That strange unfamiliar feeling. Not dependence. Not obligation. Partnership. And he found he liked it. More than he probably should after a single morning.

Then came the observation about soil conditions and irrigation debates. A long sigh escaped him. Not frustrated. Resigned. Amused. The sound drew a faint smile to his face. "Unfortunately..."

His gaze drifted toward the terraces outside. "I think you're right." Another breath followed. "The version of me from this morning would have absolutely wanted that discussion."

His expression grew thoughtful. "He would have spent hours ensuring the choice was correct before allowing himself to begin." A small pause. Then he looked back toward her. "And the frustrating thing is..."

The smile returned. "I know he'd have considered that wisdom."

His eyes shifted briefly to the sapling before returning to her. "But standing here now, I find I'd much rather do it the simple way." The admission surprised even him.

No exhaustive preparation. No certainty. Just beginning. With guidance. With trust. His grip on the container loosened slightly. "I'd rather walk out there and plant it with your help than spend the afternoon constructing increasingly elaborate reasons why I should wait." The realization felt oddly freeing.

Then his brow furrowed faintly. Not with concern. With curiosity. Marrok looked at her for a moment. Really looked at her. The warmth. The patience. The way every conversation since arriving had somehow led him toward answers he had not expected to find.

A quiet laugh escaped him. "You know..." He shook his head slightly. "I'm not entirely convinced this represents some profound transformation on my part."

His tone was lighter now. Honest. "Maybe the change has less to do with me than I'd like to admit." His eyes met hers. Steady. Warm. "Maybe it has more to do with your presence."

The words settled between them naturally. Without calculation. Without retreat. Just truth. Then, before the moment could become too serious, the corner of his mouth lifted again. "Though if that's the case, I'm sure there are several charts we could construct to prove it," he finished the statement with a whispered chuckle and an awkward wink.