these violent delights have violent ends
"Your own queen stipulated that you leave our woods alone, and yet you were found wandering within." Delah says. Her eyes like pinpoints of flint freckled with jade stare down into the pit. Ringed suddenly by gold as her eyes adjust to let her see farther and with more accuracy, the war chief too internally is appreciative of who and what Wessex is—the warrior, not the abomination of flesh—but gives no outward sign of this approval.
"You were given a chance to leave, but did not. Why?"
"You were given a chance to leave, but did not. Why?"
