For a cretin so meticulously detached and indifferent to the world around him, sometimes he gave himself away in small, minute actions. Comrades and companions were always a main concern, one of the few he afforded himself, often examining and scrutinizing finite details, movements, motions, to ensure they were still safe, still whole, still well. It was a habit innate and instinctual, crafted and created from the benevolence and compassion of his family, and sculpted, hardened by the brotherhood of soldiers. War and the aftermath had painstakingly carved its nuances and notions into his bones, into his methods, so even now, amidst the realms, the kingdoms, the sovereignty of strangers, he took the time to verify safety, to certify protection. Perhaps it was the only thing he was good for: raw power and domination, the intimidating blows and assaults, the depths of darkness coiled in his veins. The Reaper could be a blackguard, a villain, a vehement menace to anyone and everyone who threatened those he considered close; a brutal, barbaric figure to an enemy or adversary.
But Rexanna seemed fine; lifting the hatchet, drifting into her task with little difficulty. He nodded again, went back to raising his ax and felling another blow upon the solid wood, pummeling its way through knotted contortions that would eventually burn well, becoming embers and ash, thrown back into the cycle, beginning everything anew. The beast assumed they’d continue in their silence – it was comfortable, not overbearing or overwhelming, no secrets or furtive munitions shared. However, Rexanna’s voice, brambled by intrigue, caught him unawares, and he was forced to admit his defects and flaws right out in the open.
Social niceties and discourse had never been one of his main abilities. The wild, savage vehemence on a battlefield was more to his taste, where actions spoke far louder than words, where a weapon could sink and slide through an enemy’s chest, and nothing was exchanged but viciousness and annihilation. Warriors understood one another without a neat turn of phrase, without clustering in the background, listening to anything and everything; they fought for opposite sides, they partook in feral, arcane, ancient devices, and the strongest, the most cunning, left the dais of war alive. He’d adapted poorly again; had gone right back to his old habits of lingering in the shadows, seen but not heard, a quiet, unholy demon in the corner, ready to strike at a moment’s notice, but with few allies and even lesser knowledge. He hadn’t assimilated, but took to routine, eroding over and over again because it was safe, because it meant he didn’t have to step out of his comfortable rut. Reticence was easy. “Nothing I am certain you have not discovered for yourself,” he answered, a slight frown chiseling its way upon his face, perhaps the only sign that the notion bothered him, that he hadn’t managed to do much of anything in a world full of possibilities. He’d seen her in the same corners, reaching for his presence, and for a moment he thought he didn’t deserve her attention; slamming his next blow into the wood’s surface a little harder than intended. Rexanna had the ability to blend into any scenery, any surrounding, talk her way into pleasantries, into deviant exploits, into anything and everything; he could merely devastate and ruin. “Have you?” His piercing stare flickered to her briefly, and he didn’t like the dependence on her information, on her wisdom, for it made him feel utterly ridiculous and ashamed, stupid and inept – a blundering idiot in the forest. The soldier polished the final notion while grabbing hold of the last piece of lumber, detaching some strips left bare and frayed and tossing it onto the sled.
