It's like this: Eirika sits next to you, and Ephraim wants the lessons to be over, and you can't follow suit, too frail to shine like they; Eirika's look is full of concern, and Ephraim pauses a moment, and if this is pity you'd drink it to the last and ask for more, friendship as sweet as wine.

It's like this: they grow and you don't grow out of it, out of them, out of the corner of Eirika's lips tugging at your heartstrings, or the muscles playing in Ephraim's back when he trains without a glance back at you - and still Eirika looks at you with concern and her concern stops Ephraim a moment, and some part of you whispers it's pity and it will never change; you will never be more.

It's like this: you want to join them like you crave spring air in your lungs and their sun on your skin; you listen.