"I do not mean to nag," G'raha mumbled, his ears drooping apologetically. "I simply..." cannot bear the thought of losing you. "Er, do not wish to see you hurt. Capable though you may be, I still worry, my friend."

That word—friend. His heart ached each time.

He should feel honored enough that he could even call the Warrior of Light that, he knew. After all, what was he, compared to Hydaelyn's chosen? The Warrior was the sun, and he a mere sprout reaching for its radiance. G'raha had achieved many things in his now quite long life, and still he found himself feeling small, inconsequential, in the face of someone who could fell gods and alter the very fate of the stars.

G'raha had fallen hard, fast, and how could he not? How could his heart not skip a beat at the sight of his greatest inspiration, of the one who had been his driving force for so long? Of one whose deeds would be sung about for centuries to come? A hero worthy of epics, of legends, in the flesh, living and breathing within arm's reach.

It was foolish, he knew, to even hope that one who hung the moon and stars would even look his way. No, he couldn't confess. It would be folly to. He'd keep his feelings under lock and key, buried deep within him where they belonged. The idea of his love being reciprocated was naught but a distant dream, and reality was this; he was a footnote in the Warrior's epic. And that was good enough. It was good enough.

"Perhaps you could take today to rest?" he offered hopefully. He was a fool, through and through. "I would gladly keep you company, if you like."