In Which Farilon Clings to the Stronger Effort

April 28, 1181

Farilon stared at the toes of his boots as his parents approached and hoped they were only there to scold him for not taking them off before lying down on his nice clean bed. Not that it was the wisest of hopes, since they couldn't have known his boots were on the bed before they'd come in and the scolding wouldn't have required a combined effort besides, but Farilon was not above stupid hopes, not when they were preferable to the likely truth.

The likely truth being that no, this party had not been cancelled at the last minute--and indeed, his older siblings and in-laws had already begun to arrive.

"Are you all right?" His mother looked sympathetic enough and he supposed she ought to have. She always knew what he was feeling, or at least the feelings she could understand. Pity she couldn't have believed him if he'd claimed to feel ill. "You haven't left your room since breakfast. Your little sisters haven't even had a chance to give you their present."

I wouldn't have sent them away if they'd knocked, he wanted to say, but he hadn't spoken in hours. He could manage so many words now, but only if he worked himself up to it first. Something more to the point would have to suffice. "Sorry."

"Farilon..." His father trailed off, taking a moment to size up Farilon's mother for any trace of a ready defense. Today, there was none to be found. "I don't see why you insist on spending so much time alone, son. It's not healthy."

His mother nodded. "And we all love you so much; we want to spend more time with you."

"And I'm sure some of the other boys your age would be happy to befriend you. And who knows--maybe some pretty young lady will take a shine to you if you give her half a chance?"

Farilon's toenail scraped the leather by proxy of his sock. He did love his parents, and his siblings, and his nieces and nephews--and even his siblings-in-law, sort of--but they didn't understand. He'd once craved their company but now it only made him ache in ways they couldn't have known existed. He didn't want friends. He didn't want young ladies, no matter how pretty or smart or otherwise appealing they were. Whoever it was, there was always a gap that couldn't be bridged.

You're all supposed to be here. I'm not.

"Farilon?" He swallowed and forced himself to look away from the boot. He hated hearing his mother sound so sad. "At least come out and let Abrich and Meraleene wish you a happy birthday before supper."

"And the rest of them will be here soon too. You wouldn't want to miss your little buddy Yvanette, would you?"

Farilon sighed and slung his legs off the bed. It was the last thing he wanted to do, but he supposed he didn't want to disappoint his parents any more than was inevitable. He could play with his nieces and nephews for a while, greet his siblings, endure the over-friendly Jadin, make nice with the shyer Meraleene and the warier Ashe and Leara. They'd bothered to come to his birthday supper, after all.

After supper, he could make another retreat. "I'm sorry."

"It's all right, dear." His mother leaned in for a hug as he approached. He tried to hold off letting go as long as possible. He preferred touch to talk. People talked to other people, but they also talked to animals, plants, ghosts, inanimate objects... even themselves, though most would never admit it. Not they didn't touch those things as well, but was somehow a more human action, a less selfish action, more about the receiver than the giver. He didn't belong either way, but touch was a stronger effort at arguing otherwise. "We know you're still adjusting. We don't want to make you uncomfortable."

I'm always uncomfortable, he stressed in his own head.

But he didn't want to say it aloud.

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