KORBIN
And round about his home the glory
That blushed and bloomed,
That blushed and bloomed,
The man struggled in his grip, dirty fingers laid bare to the cold scrabbling at his face, clawing towards his eyes without quite reaching. The impact of Loren's fist as it connected with the face again reverberated through Korbin, and he felt sick to his stomach. Clenching his jaws tightly, he pressed down harder onto the exile's windpipe, and slowly, surely, the movements grew more sluggish.
For a brief moment, Korbin looked up at the Healer. There was murder in Loren's eyes, but only a dull, soul-deep pain in his as he slowly squeezed the life out of the cannibal. Raw, unveiled hurt, from one who's had many loved ones taken away, but never stolen a life himself. Not a human one. Not like this.
And just like that... it was over. Too late to take back. Knocked senseless by fists, and choked, the cannibal shuddered, twitched... and grew still. Dead.
Breathing hard, pale as a sheet from shock and pain, Korbin relinquished his grip and shoved himself back, off the body that rolled limply off him and into the snow, face down.
His hands were shaking, and he didn't know if it was from adrenaline, rage or pain.
For a brief moment, Korbin looked up at the Healer. There was murder in Loren's eyes, but only a dull, soul-deep pain in his as he slowly squeezed the life out of the cannibal. Raw, unveiled hurt, from one who's had many loved ones taken away, but never stolen a life himself. Not a human one. Not like this.
And just like that... it was over. Too late to take back. Knocked senseless by fists, and choked, the cannibal shuddered, twitched... and grew still. Dead.
Breathing hard, pale as a sheet from shock and pain, Korbin relinquished his grip and shoved himself back, off the body that rolled limply off him and into the snow, face down.
His hands were shaking, and he didn't know if it was from adrenaline, rage or pain.
Is but a dim-remembered story
Of the old time entombed.
Of the old time entombed.
