That is the idea, yes. The cohesive traits of a soul often bind and the conflicting parts break away, rearrange, try to be new. I have always thought... that in such a metaphor, I am the two wildcard. Everett Vaughan is distinct from Sherwood by that distinct alone. [it was comfort to him, now, something he held onto as a mark of his individuality. Something that separates them, makes them truly different. Still, it nags at him, how that bit of difference is perhaps only details, pointless, nothing that change him at the core.

He's not a man who can be inherently good, he's too many parts rotten.]

Sherwood is a celebrated figure, to the Springtide. I've enjoyed my life of privilege through carrying his legacy, even if I did not become a Druid myself. Yet... as I'm sure you suspect. It's been revealed to me that he was not a man to be glorified. You... my darling, would believe him despicable. [but for more reasons than Everett does, maybe, which also tugs his heart down to the depth of dread and loneliness]