KORBIN
And round about his home the glory
That blushed and bloomed,
That blushed and bloomed,
Similar thoughts ran through Korbin's head. Calculating risk and reward, weighing the dangers of pressing on to the ones of returning without more meat. Possible risk now, or starvation later? And the callousness of it would never cease to drag on his soul. Here they were, contemplating the worth of a man's life against their own, sighting it down along the shaft of an arrow without even knowing for certain that there was a threat.
Except... except Korbin knew. He knew what the exiles were, what they did. Knew Noah didn't aim that arrow lightly, or easily. Knew, with a dread certainty that if Noah hadn't, he would have done so himself, after seeing what he saw on the Tundra that day. When he'd killed someone himself, for the first time.
So he just gritted his teeth when given the sign to stay down. Knocked his own arrow and turned his attention to their backs, to the sides, wary of more danger lurking in the snow. Anything could hide among the white dunes, any number of exiles. Of cannibals.
The twang of the arrow let loose made the hair of his neck stand up. There was a nauseating thunk and a male scream as the projectile burrowed deep into the exile's shoulder. Korbin threw a quick glance to see the figure come staggering towards them, then forced himself to resume his own task.
Keep watch. Protect their backs. A sound that didn't belong to either them or the wounded man reached him then, and Korbin tensed, ready to spring into action.
Except... except Korbin knew. He knew what the exiles were, what they did. Knew Noah didn't aim that arrow lightly, or easily. Knew, with a dread certainty that if Noah hadn't, he would have done so himself, after seeing what he saw on the Tundra that day. When he'd killed someone himself, for the first time.
So he just gritted his teeth when given the sign to stay down. Knocked his own arrow and turned his attention to their backs, to the sides, wary of more danger lurking in the snow. Anything could hide among the white dunes, any number of exiles. Of cannibals.
The twang of the arrow let loose made the hair of his neck stand up. There was a nauseating thunk and a male scream as the projectile burrowed deep into the exile's shoulder. Korbin threw a quick glance to see the figure come staggering towards them, then forced himself to resume his own task.
Keep watch. Protect their backs. A sound that didn't belong to either them or the wounded man reached him then, and Korbin tensed, ready to spring into action.
Is but a dim-remembered story
Of the old time entombed.
Of the old time entombed.
