[After his talk with Byleth, Claude realised he had made a very poor assumption. Namely, that Hayame, a jinba who had evidently only ever known poor treatment at the hands of a human master, and who was accustomed to living in a stall like the average warhorse, was capable of reading his message.
Now that he thought about it, had he ever seen her read, or write, or carry evidence in her scant possessions that she owned books? He didn't think so. For many of the people of his world, reading was a luxury mostly afforded to the nobility or the clergy, though it was common amongst the mercantile classes of Leicester, or Almyran traders and scholars, too. Ordinary people, like labourers and farmhands... Less so.
It was hard to imagine for someone like him who lived practically half his life with a nose buried in a book, though, and so it had slipped his mind completely. Surely she holds that against him as further evidence they're too wildly different for him to ever understand her, especially now he had told her he was a king, and seemingly blinded by the privilege of his station.
He won't address that directly, though, and risk wounding her pride further with more assumptions. Instead, he just sends her a brief communion. Thoughts, this time, not text.]
It's me again. You don't have to respond, but I just want you to know that... I'm sorry for hurting you. I told you I wouldn't regret what I did, but that's something I do regret. It was never my intention, and I acted thoughtlessly.
[He can already feel something stick in his throat, though he hopes it isn't obvious across the connection, tenuous as it is. He should wrap this up quickly and reiterate what she (probably) couldn't read before.]
I hope you're staying safe. And... Whatever happens, don't forget that I'm always on your side. If you need help, you can reach out any time.
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Now that he thought about it, had he ever seen her read, or write, or carry evidence in her scant possessions that she owned books? He didn't think so. For many of the people of his world, reading was a luxury mostly afforded to the nobility or the clergy, though it was common amongst the mercantile classes of Leicester, or Almyran traders and scholars, too. Ordinary people, like labourers and farmhands... Less so.
It was hard to imagine for someone like him who lived practically half his life with a nose buried in a book, though, and so it had slipped his mind completely. Surely she holds that against him as further evidence they're too wildly different for him to ever understand her, especially now he had told her he was a king, and seemingly blinded by the privilege of his station.
He won't address that directly, though, and risk wounding her pride further with more assumptions. Instead, he just sends her a brief communion. Thoughts, this time, not text.]
It's me again. You don't have to respond, but I just want you to know that... I'm sorry for hurting you. I told you I wouldn't regret what I did, but that's something I do regret. It was never my intention, and I acted thoughtlessly.
[He can already feel something stick in his throat, though he hopes it isn't obvious across the connection, tenuous as it is. He should wrap this up quickly and reiterate what she (probably) couldn't read before.]
I hope you're staying safe. And... Whatever happens, don't forget that I'm always on your side. If you need help, you can reach out any time.