Chapter Text
The workshop in the broken mountain is the first place Aloy has had a chance to rest in for a while, and besides, she wants to make Sylens wait.
He doesn’t react while she squeezes water from a fox-skin pouch to the latest ancient vessel she had found. His story hangs awkwardly in the cold air, but he doesn’t show a shred of guilt about it.
She inclines the cup toward him while she considers her response. Silty water slops.
Bad omen that she can’t decide what exactly to accuse him of first, bad omen that the cup has the Faro name on its chipped ceramic, bad omen that Sylens notices and slips one hand over hers to take the cup and drink a cautious sip. He inclines it back.
“To the future.”
Aloy narrows her eyes. “Is that funny to you?”
“No.”
She knows exactly what to say to him now. No amount of penitence can forgive some things.