Gently, Milo pressed his forehead against Ollie's, his clawed hands cradling the young witch's face as he poured his heart out in hopes of reaching the man who had become so much more than just a friend to him.
"You saved my family," Milo whispered. "You saved my mother when everyone else had given up on the carvings in our village as lost. You dug through the ashes and the embers to bring back the missing pieces of her heart."
"You gave us a home when we had nothing," he continued. "You became my brother when I needed one most. So please, Ollie. Please don't leave me. Don't leave us. We still need you. I still need you."
The carving pulsed with emotion in Ollie's hands, hope and pride and worry and fear and determination all swirling together, all speaking of how much Milo cared, how much Milo valued him, how much it would hurt to lose him.
And slowly, gradually, like dawn breaking after the longest night, the darkness began to recede from Ollie's eyes.
