The smell of brine comes back to him and it's back to square one. For all his effort to reach out and show grace to this particular entity, it feels wasted.
He's hurt, and betrayed. And not for reasons these other people might think.
Cain marches towards Hwylryn, eyes fixed squarely on him. It's a good thing they touched earlier in the morning, because now the dragon gets a blaze of gold set squarely on him that no one else has seen.
He should have warned everyone harder. He should have told everyone what a deadly, obsessively lethal combination North and West can be. He'd let his guard down, because no way a dragon could actually murder on his own without magic.
But getting a child involved is disgusting.
And framing Bradley? Stupid, stupid choice.
Killing two of the kindest people here for that? Cain can't take this.
His arm snaps forward, hand balling into a fist at the collar of Hwylryn's clothes, keeping him in place. He's much, much stronger than Hwylryn. He won't be able to get out of this.
He marches forward, not caring if he accidentally steps on him, or drags him too harshly in the grass. He holds him in a tight hold, close, so he can growl in a low voice: ]
If you were in pain, you should've said something.
[ After several paces, Cain pushes. He throws Hwylryn to the ground and offers him no chance to get up. ]
You should have—
[ His sword flourishes in his right hand. In a swift motion, he holds it above his head, tip pointing down at Hwylryn's head, and his knee falls to his chest, hard, to keep him in place. ]
—said something!
[ His momentum pulls him downward, the blade of his sword cutting through the air, towards Hwylryn—
Shrunk.
And pierces the soft ground beside his head.
Cain stares, Hwylryn's own grief mirrored back at him. He's not the only one that's lost this week. Not by a long shot. His long hair drapes around them, shielding them both from the sun.
no subject
Furious.
The smell of brine comes back to him and it's back to square one. For all his effort to reach out and show grace to this particular entity, it feels wasted.
He's hurt, and betrayed. And not for reasons these other people might think.
Cain marches towards Hwylryn, eyes fixed squarely on him. It's a good thing they touched earlier in the morning, because now the dragon gets a blaze of gold set squarely on him that no one else has seen.
He should have warned everyone harder. He should have told everyone what a deadly, obsessively lethal combination North and West can be. He'd let his guard down, because no way a dragon could actually murder on his own without magic.
But getting a child involved is disgusting.
And framing Bradley? Stupid, stupid choice.
Killing two of the kindest people here for that? Cain can't take this.
His arm snaps forward, hand balling into a fist at the collar of Hwylryn's clothes, keeping him in place. He's much, much stronger than Hwylryn. He won't be able to get out of this.
He marches forward, not caring if he accidentally steps on him, or drags him too harshly in the grass. He holds him in a tight hold, close, so he can growl in a low voice: ]
If you were in pain, you should've said something.
[ After several paces, Cain pushes. He throws Hwylryn to the ground and offers him no chance to get up. ]
You should have—
[ His sword flourishes in his right hand. In a swift motion, he holds it above his head, tip pointing down at Hwylryn's head, and his knee falls to his chest, hard, to keep him in place. ]
—said something!
[ His momentum pulls him downward, the blade of his sword cutting through the air, towards Hwylryn—
Shrunk.
And pierces the soft ground beside his head.
Cain stares, Hwylryn's own grief mirrored back at him. He's not the only one that's lost this week. Not by a long shot. His long hair drapes around them, shielding them both from the sun.
His expression twists, upset and all.
When he speaks, his voice trembles. ]
I could have helped you.