Ortus does not lean against the portal frame, mindful of the newness of the weld, but his shoulders droop as a proxy for the gesture. The already mournful lines of his paint sag under his light perspiration as he opens his eyes to regard Ford.
"Little good," he says, soft and dark as loam, "If it is at all like my experience of such a thing. Perhaps it will not be. The circumstances are not wholly alike, and I am no magician, nor a theorist of the art. I also allow for the possibility I worry overmuch. I am prone to the melancholic."
He glances away, towards the rest of the project and those working on it.
"All of this for the sake of one lost soul." Ortus muses. "It is a curious trait of humankind, our willingness to risk so much for the sake of a single person, one a stranger to most of us. Is it noble, or foolhardy? Do we answer such a question by the intent of the action, or by its outcome?"
no subject
"Little good," he says, soft and dark as loam, "If it is at all like my experience of such a thing. Perhaps it will not be. The circumstances are not wholly alike, and I am no magician, nor a theorist of the art. I also allow for the possibility I worry overmuch. I am prone to the melancholic."
He glances away, towards the rest of the project and those working on it.
"All of this for the sake of one lost soul." Ortus muses. "It is a curious trait of humankind, our willingness to risk so much for the sake of a single person, one a stranger to most of us. Is it noble, or foolhardy? Do we answer such a question by the intent of the action, or by its outcome?"