[ Abel does not have any experience with this sort of pain, the uncomfortable sit of a guilt and uncertainty that's writ everywhere in her eyes and the slope of her shoulders. that she expects her choices to be frowned upon, her decision discredited... it says a great deal, especially after it's been years since that day she left her homeland behind her.

has she been carrying this all that time...?

Abel's hand falls away from her shoulder, but it isn't for the absence of his desire to offer comfort. he can tell that this might be something that spans beyond simple gestures, that it might need talking out. has she spoken about this with anyone? he wonders. ]

Do you think it necessary? To have some... grandiose, noble plan before leaving your home?

[ it speaks to her sense of duty and obligation as much as her respect for the place she had been raised in, the people who called it home alongside her; Abel quite wishes he could see it. ]

...Not every journey starts because one answered some higher calling. In fact, that might be precisely where the best sort of journeys start - in search of ourselves, in search of what's meant to drive us. To find our place in the world... to make it better than when we started. From what you - and your friends - have told me... I think you've done that in spades, haven't you?

[ it is a given, Abel thinks. ]

You may think of it as having left 'home' behind as if it were a selfish wish, but... I think-- what you really wanted to do was make many homes, many places. Your heart never belonged trapped under the ocean; it's too big for that. Part of you surely knew that and drew you where you needed to go. And in that way, maybe... you helped open up your home to become so much bigger than it had been when you left, brought pieces of it back with you to share with those who weren't ready to venture beyond it just yet.

I don't think you have anything to regret or feel sorry for. But... do you? Really?