THE HARDEST PART OF THIS IS LEAVING YOU | [death]

[roan ;]

Sometimes, Roan wondered if he was too paranoid. He wondered if he stressed out too much about his duties as soothsayer, or maybe he just overestimated how much those within the group got hurt. But then, someone would get hurt, and they would hide it. They would stash that knowledge away, stubbornly insisting over and over again that they were fine, and that they didn't need his help. When the feline met those people, and saw what they were hiding away, he realized that his fears were entirely reasonable. He couldn't bear the thought of someone dying because of him, and he had already been feeling like a failure as of late. For a brief time, he had thought that it was his fault that Sam was dead. That he was to blame for the pain that had been inflicted on Goldie, as well as the rest of her family. It had been his burden to bear, and it had eventually come crushing down on him, eventually causing him to snap and break. He could still remember the crash of the lightning against the shore, and the exhaustion that tugged him down into unconsciousness. It hadn't been fun, and he had no desire to repeat the experience.

Recovery was a funny thing, and for a while, the medic had thought that he was finally on the road towards it. He had taken up his position once again, and while he had broken, he had also picked up the pieces, and put himself back together again. It seemed as though the universe wasn't happy with that, however, as it intended on knocking the humpty dumpty that was Roan Ó Foaláin-Roux all the way back down again.

Roan had known of Jaime's issues. He had been there when the scales first pierced the other's skin, and he had carefully treated his younger brother's injuries. Since then, Jaime had kept everything under wraps, and since the draconic feline now lived on his own, he had been unaware of the changes his little brother was going through. He hadn't known about the snapping, nor the pain. Maybe if he had known... maybe if he had been there, he would've been able to stop it. Would've been able to save one of the people in the world that meant the most to him. Instead, now all he could do was grieve. Grieve, and blame himself for the sight he came upon that morning, as he walked idly along the shore. He had been fine, up to that point. He had just been walking, searching for herbs that grew along the line of where water met shore. The day had been so quiet, and it had seemed so peaceful. Then, the scent of Jaime had overtaken him, causing him to lift his head.

Internally, Roan knew that he had known his brother's fate from the moment he spotted him. It was impossible not to, considering the limp body that laid atop the sands, and the scent of death that lingered on the air. Yet still, the soothsayer was throwing himself forward, a scream ripping out of his throat before he could stop it, "JAIME!" There was, of course, no response. Why would there be? Roan had failed yet another person, and now he was forced to listen to the silence of the air. No longer did it feel peaceful, or comforting. Instead the silence was deafening, and seemed to choke the air from him as he collapsed beside his older brother. He didn't even realize he was crying, until he felt the wetness dripping from his chin, splattering against the sands below them. The medic's body trembled as he slowly curled up beside Jaime's form, disfigured and deathly cold to the touch. He continued to sob for his little brother, hiccups interrupting his speech as he whispered, "I'm sorry... I'm so sorry... I should've helped... I'm sorry. Please come back..."

He had failed.

Again.

ROAN Ó FOALÁIN-ROUX - THE TYPHOON - SOOTHSAYER

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