who we are and all that we're trying to be
His words have never been meandering, crawling things, rarely getting to the point or to the heart of the matter. They were blunt, stark, and unadorned, incapable of frivolities; gave them a deeper meaning, a better complexity, a heavier anthem than those who strived for finesse. They also carried weight and merit, and he waited in the midst of his inquiry, not ceasing in his movements of cutting the timber, placing the ax down, and hauling the rest of the wood into the wagon. Giving her time to ponder, to wonder, as warriors often did – the impetuous, impulsive ones never quite making it to levels of leadership and precision.
The soon measures were enough, and he nodded. He made no comment about Outlanders; the Sword was one himself, and there’d never be any change to it, no matter how many years he’d lived within, attempted to assimilate amongst the people in the Grounds. But the opportunity for rebellion and sedition was far too infused in his entity to see the chance slip away. The hatred, the vehemence, and the lingering sentiments of revenge would always linger, until Zariah had seemingly vanished, been demolished, or vanquished. “If you need assistance,” a clear offering, a shrug to his shoulders, but the sentiment there. “A number of militia members and myself would be willing to aid.” To destroy; the Merciless a lasting threat in the back of their minds. She’d caused enough turmoil and turbulence to warrant more than a few willing souls to devastate her in return.
It takes dying to know
How to live as ghosts
