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Time finds him sat up on a hill facing north, his long hair falling freely upon his back. He approaches silently, the warm lights of the ranch glowing behind him, and sits beside his protege’s protege.
The Hero of the Wild, despite his nickname, remains still.
They sit, there in silence, for a long while. Time is fine with that; he knows silence. They all do. It’s something that comes with the job. Even those with a companion on their journeys have learned that silence is inevitable; in the dead of night, when all are asleep except you and your thoughts... silence can be terrifying. And wonderful, all the same.
Wild shifts and Time looks at him out of the corner of his eye. Wild, reckless as he is, looks to be considering his words a great deal.
“Tell me something…” he says when he finally speaks, his voice barely a whisper above the night breeze. “So wise are you in the ways of love.”
Time huffs.
“I wouldn’t say that.”
Wild smiles softly.
“Is it still love if I’ve forgotten?”
Time stares in quiet surprise as Wild looks back down at his hands. He is holding a small book and, even from where he sits, Time can see that its pages are weathered with age. Wild continues after a moment.
“Can I still love someone if they’ve gone, and I don’t remember when they were there? If the only things I have left are the words of others and...” he runs a hand over the worn cover of the book. “an old diary…”
He looks up and Time can see the trouble in his eyes and feels a pang of sadness; he remembers waking, alone and afraid, unable to comprehend what had happened - how much time had passed. He can only imagine the turmoil that Wild feels.
“Is it still love if the only thing I remember is a moment that’s already fading?”
Wild falls silent again and Time takes a moment to consider the question, before placing a hand on his companion’s shoulder.
“I believe love lasts forever.”
Wild glances at him, then turns to nod at the ranch behind them.
“So if she dies tomorrow and you forget her the next day, is it still love?”
“I, uh,” Time stammers, but Wild speaks before he can finish.
“I’ve tried so hard to hold onto what little I have left, but all I have left are the scattered remains of stories that other people tell me.”
Wild turns way again and holds the book in front of him with both hands, like an offering.
“They tell me I loved her… and it’s written in her diary that she felt the same. But…”
He looks at Time now.
“I don’t remember loving her… so, how can I love her still?”
Time feels as though the eyes of the goddess herself are looking at him through the blue of Wild’s. Wild’s expression is unreadable and Time can do nothing but shrug and give a half-hearted smile.
“You’re asking me questions very few people would have the answer to.”
Wild huffs and looks away, a smile of his own tugging at his lips. They fall back into silence, but it’s tense, the emptiness of unanswered questions still hanging in the air. It’s broken, finally, by Malon, whose voice carries out over the fields, calling them in. Time stands, all too eager to leave, but pauses when Wild remains. The younger is faced away from him, but Time can see the way his shoulders are hunched.
“I don’t think love dies,” he murmurs and Wild’s ears prick, though he does not turn around. “People die… people always die. But love,” and he looks to where Malon stands, silhouetted against the doorway. “Love is reborn again and again. Maybe not in the form you first found it, but look for it and it’s there… in family. Mentors. Brothers in arms. Maybe she’s gone, and the love you felt for her no longer looks the same, but it is still love. Ever changing.”
Time doesn’t look to see if Wild will respond, just continues on down the hill.
“Love will come and go and come again. In new forms and for new people. Perhaps there’ll be someone else, someday, who will bring new stories and new memories, enough to fill more diaries. Love is everlasting.”
Malon calls again, and he can see her place her hands on her hips, leaning her hip against the doorframe. Time smiles.
“Not even time can wither it.”