There was a familiar ringing in his ears.
For years, Nathaniel had thoroughly convinced himself he left this kind of anger far behind. As if he'd outgrown its reach, or discarded it for a better-fitting emotion. But here it was again, kicking and thrumming in his chest, crawling out through every blood vessel, every nerve ending, a building roar. He hadn't been this angry in a long time, and the anger itself had spent that time waiting, growing, building, becoming something vast and terrible all on its own.
He sort of wanted to roam the streets until he found the first Launcelyn he could and then do them the favor of introducing their teeth to the back of their throat. If it was the ill-appointed queen, so much the better. If it was someone else, someone who just happened to sort of like her... Fine, whatever. He felt like a rabid dog locked in a cage. Chewing the bars until his gums bled. He wanted to break something. He wanted to set fire to the nearest wooden structure.
He was probably lucky, in this case, that his only magical ability involved mending flesh rather than breaking it.
But he was full of an emotion like static, black and noisome, as he left the cabin behind. The cabin, and the dog, and the chickens, who were all innocent and deserved none of this. The cabin, far out enough to be remote, to be removed, and yet not removed enough to be immune to the bullshit flooding the Hollowed Grounds at this particular moment in time. Nathaniel moved at a swift clip, anger carrying him faster and farther than his usual despondency ever did. His hands were fists at his sides, except for when his knuckles started to hurt and he flexed them, annoyed by the limitations of his own flesh. He wanted to sink his fist into the nearest soft tissue until it wailed. He wanted —
Well, he wanted everything back to normal. He wanted the spire protected and the barrier back and everything just as it ought to be, thank you very much. But of course it wasn't. Of course, the Outlanders had finally gone and broken something beyond repair, and now... Now...
He crashed into the bakery like a bull, his expression thunderous. He did not speak. Merely cast a dark glance around the room, at those assembled and far more composed than himself, and threw himself into a back corner. Not before grabbing an entire slice of bread, which he shoved unceremoniously into his mouth (whole). A mistake, but maybe a fortunate mistake, because he was forced to spend some time chewing before he could speak at all.
For years, Nathaniel had thoroughly convinced himself he left this kind of anger far behind. As if he'd outgrown its reach, or discarded it for a better-fitting emotion. But here it was again, kicking and thrumming in his chest, crawling out through every blood vessel, every nerve ending, a building roar. He hadn't been this angry in a long time, and the anger itself had spent that time waiting, growing, building, becoming something vast and terrible all on its own.
He sort of wanted to roam the streets until he found the first Launcelyn he could and then do them the favor of introducing their teeth to the back of their throat. If it was the ill-appointed queen, so much the better. If it was someone else, someone who just happened to sort of like her... Fine, whatever. He felt like a rabid dog locked in a cage. Chewing the bars until his gums bled. He wanted to break something. He wanted to set fire to the nearest wooden structure.
He was probably lucky, in this case, that his only magical ability involved mending flesh rather than breaking it.
But he was full of an emotion like static, black and noisome, as he left the cabin behind. The cabin, and the dog, and the chickens, who were all innocent and deserved none of this. The cabin, far out enough to be remote, to be removed, and yet not removed enough to be immune to the bullshit flooding the Hollowed Grounds at this particular moment in time. Nathaniel moved at a swift clip, anger carrying him faster and farther than his usual despondency ever did. His hands were fists at his sides, except for when his knuckles started to hurt and he flexed them, annoyed by the limitations of his own flesh. He wanted to sink his fist into the nearest soft tissue until it wailed. He wanted —
Well, he wanted everything back to normal. He wanted the spire protected and the barrier back and everything just as it ought to be, thank you very much. But of course it wasn't. Of course, the Outlanders had finally gone and broken something beyond repair, and now... Now...
He crashed into the bakery like a bull, his expression thunderous. He did not speak. Merely cast a dark glance around the room, at those assembled and far more composed than himself, and threw himself into a back corner. Not before grabbing an entire slice of bread, which he shoved unceremoniously into his mouth (whole). A mistake, but maybe a fortunate mistake, because he was forced to spend some time chewing before he could speak at all.
» Nathaniel
