KORBIN
And round about his home the glory
That blushed and bloomed,
That blushed and bloomed,
So many things he never really did. Never fought. Never hunted if he could avoid it - he never could - never cried and never let his guard down all the way. But never was a place in time and it had caught up with him, no matter that he'd spent a lifetime trying to outrun it. He'd been the one to drag his sister on a hunt this time. He'd thrown the first punch. When she pulled him down into a tight embrace, he wrapped his arms around her and crushed her to him, too hard, too tight... and he cried. Quiet tears that leaked unbidden from his eyes, soaked into the feathers of her cloak - his feathers, damn it - and froze before they ever hit the ground.
It would almost have been better if she'd chided him. Scolded, for going out there. For If only she could repeating at least one of the scathing, bitter thoughts he kept throwing at himself. If only she wasn't so understanding.
But she was. Always had been. And the vow was the same now as always, even if guilt and shame and horror left a grimey taste on his tongue. Made him wonder if choking the life out of the world would be anything like killing that man.
"I remember," he whispered hoarsely. Throat almost too tight to get the words out. "I came home."
It would almost have been better if she'd chided him. Scolded, for going out there. For If only she could repeating at least one of the scathing, bitter thoughts he kept throwing at himself. If only she wasn't so understanding.
But she was. Always had been. And the vow was the same now as always, even if guilt and shame and horror left a grimey taste on his tongue. Made him wonder if choking the life out of the world would be anything like killing that man.
"I remember," he whispered hoarsely. Throat almost too tight to get the words out. "I came home."
Is but a dim-remembered story
Of the old time entombed.
Of the old time entombed.
