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Summary
Orpheus's eyes were comparable to that of a deer—helpless and small, almost as if it was impossible he could hurt anyone with that silent vulnerability of his.
So who would think that such an innocent gaze could harbor that much reserved hatred, for a man that loathed him with eyes of a bottomless pit? He didn't know, for he had never looked into his direction, for he refused to be engulfed in the abyss it extended to.
But when he did, Orpheus finds that those eyes held nothing but anguish and sorrow—that beyond the disgust and coldness it always brought, was the look of unrequited longing for the novelist, and it concerned him when he felt a tug on his heartstrings.
Because the night the prospector's confession was spoken, came the change he didn't expect between them.