Zavien
Fear is pain arising from the anticipation of evil.
The couch had barely felt his weight when Zavien jolted up like he'd been struck by lightning, spine straightening and heart racing against the fear that pounded in his head. Had the Family come to finish the job? Or maybe it was the sign for the dream to end? Would the darkness claim him again, ripping away the delicate second chance it'd tempted him with? His eyes scanned frantically for the source of the crash, hoping and praying that he was wrong. Sol bristled with alarm, following Mittens to ensure that there was no danger to be found for his still-fragile companion while Zavien clutched for Lena's hand, holding his breath like it may somehow stop what was coming.
It wasn't until Sol returned to stand guard at his side that the Dragoon let out his breath, releasing the death-grip he'd had on her hand. "Sorry." The apology was for more than just the tight grasp, the heavy softness proof of that as he finally sat at the edge of the couch. He didn't want to burden her with his worries and the fleeting echo of a smile returned to forcibly push away some of the weight.
Leaning forward, he clasped his hands tightly together, propping his elbows on his knees to support the way his back hunched with an invisible load. His thumb kneaded into his palm as he took a deep, steadying breath to find his center. It didn't right the world, but Zavien was able to focus enough to begin. "We weren't prepared - " He shook his head in correction, "I wasn't prepared for the battle we faced in the Tundra..." Stealing a glance to his right, he found comfort in Lena's face before he continued, "It was brutally cold, and the Void yeti that appeared to face us was formidable, larger than any beast I've ever seen."
It's claws alone were large enough to kill a man in one strike...
Zavien ignored the thought, trying to separate himself from the memory if only to get through telling it. "Melita, Alys, and Sohalia had also come, but it was clear from the start that we were outmatched." Another deep breath and he switched to kneading his other palm. Keep it short and simple like a report. "Alys kept it distracted with illusions while Mel shot arrows from behind her invisibility cloak. I called on Safrin, who helped weaken the yeti more. It seemed like we might suddenly have a chance... until Soh was hit." The blood splattering across purple snow flashed before his eyes and he clenched his teeth, his jaw flexing at the movement. "I told her to run. She couldn't survive another moment without medical care, and the yeti wasn't going to give us one. To help her escape, and keep it from targeting Alys, I - I rushed in to attack..." Each word took more effort, more air. He tried to push them out, squeezing his hands harder like the physical strength might translate. "That's when - " But it wasn't enough. The words felt weak and insufficient. His tongue felt thick and his throat tight, fighting against the admission. The smile had since failed him, but now his voice did the same, abandoning him to the truth.
Zavien pulled off the jacket and lifted up the edge of his shirt, exposing his right flank to Lena as he disguised a small wince. His own eyes turned away, already knowing what she'd see, and not sure he wanted to see her reaction to it. The torn flesh stitched together through magic and healing had become a mess of pulling and puckering skin, still a shiny pink with new growth. It started just under his arm before twisting down to mid-abdomen, the gnarled scar that would always represent his stupidity and subsequent death. He waited to hear her reaction, to know if she understood without him needing to say the words aloud:
He died.
It wasn't until Sol returned to stand guard at his side that the Dragoon let out his breath, releasing the death-grip he'd had on her hand. "Sorry." The apology was for more than just the tight grasp, the heavy softness proof of that as he finally sat at the edge of the couch. He didn't want to burden her with his worries and the fleeting echo of a smile returned to forcibly push away some of the weight.
Leaning forward, he clasped his hands tightly together, propping his elbows on his knees to support the way his back hunched with an invisible load. His thumb kneaded into his palm as he took a deep, steadying breath to find his center. It didn't right the world, but Zavien was able to focus enough to begin. "We weren't prepared - " He shook his head in correction, "I wasn't prepared for the battle we faced in the Tundra..." Stealing a glance to his right, he found comfort in Lena's face before he continued, "It was brutally cold, and the Void yeti that appeared to face us was formidable, larger than any beast I've ever seen."
It's claws alone were large enough to kill a man in one strike...
Zavien ignored the thought, trying to separate himself from the memory if only to get through telling it. "Melita, Alys, and Sohalia had also come, but it was clear from the start that we were outmatched." Another deep breath and he switched to kneading his other palm. Keep it short and simple like a report. "Alys kept it distracted with illusions while Mel shot arrows from behind her invisibility cloak. I called on Safrin, who helped weaken the yeti more. It seemed like we might suddenly have a chance... until Soh was hit." The blood splattering across purple snow flashed before his eyes and he clenched his teeth, his jaw flexing at the movement. "I told her to run. She couldn't survive another moment without medical care, and the yeti wasn't going to give us one. To help her escape, and keep it from targeting Alys, I - I rushed in to attack..." Each word took more effort, more air. He tried to push them out, squeezing his hands harder like the physical strength might translate. "That's when - " But it wasn't enough. The words felt weak and insufficient. His tongue felt thick and his throat tight, fighting against the admission. The smile had since failed him, but now his voice did the same, abandoning him to the truth.
Zavien pulled off the jacket and lifted up the edge of his shirt, exposing his right flank to Lena as he disguised a small wince. His own eyes turned away, already knowing what she'd see, and not sure he wanted to see her reaction to it. The torn flesh stitched together through magic and healing had become a mess of pulling and puckering skin, still a shiny pink with new growth. It started just under his arm before twisting down to mid-abdomen, the gnarled scar that would always represent his stupidity and subsequent death. He waited to hear her reaction, to know if she understood without him needing to say the words aloud:
He died.
