Without the arm around him, nearly forgotten after a point, Tidus draws himself to sit up while Roland leans back; resting his weight on his arms secured either side of him, his head turned to give Roland all his attention.

And it's a tale that starts with war -- isn't that a familiar one. Except this time, a war lived through, a war known - a war not yet lost to time. Tidus doesn't know what that's like; when it's not set a thousand years in the past, with all that's recalled is the consequence. And there's another kind of bizarre fascination to hear about it. To know for once the details, what a life was like in that time.

Until- The end. It's a silence of its own, a drop in the story. Tidus imagines an empty canvas before Roland even goes on, but as he does--it becomes more severe, more real. What exactly the end means, and it twists at Tidus's gut, his expression uncomfortable with the rest of him.

He's not really quiet, once Roland stops. A small sputter, before-

"Why?" He chokes the word out, stumbling over his inability to understand -- how none of Roland's story makes sense. Not now about the second world, but- "Why would anyone wanna go and start a giant war like that? Were things really going that bad where you're from?"