KORBIN
And round about his home the glory
That blushed and bloomed,
That blushed and bloomed,
He gave his friend the space he needed, and leaned back against his own wall, half his attention on the surroundings. The sky above, the horizon, always checking for snow storms or wild beasts. It wouldn't do to relax, not out on the Tundra; he would stay alert so that Noah didn't have to.
"Yes," he replied simply, nodding slightly. The Olson didn't ask for details; Korbin was grateful for that, but divulged anyway. "The Grand Healer butted in when I was out flying. We came upon cannibals... some of the people exiled a few years back, if you recall. They saw us, and attacked." Nothing more to it, really; the details weren't important. He'd done what had to be done, and still felt like shit for doing it.
"After... I somehow ended up spilling my whole life story to Loren. Shock, probably," he said, with a wry twist of the mouth; he wasn't usually that talkative about himself. Telling tales and bantering was one thing, but getting up close and personal was more difficult. Not something he invited to. "Then I picked a fight with Weaver. It went as well as expected." Meaning, he'd gotten his arse kicked. "Still feel like punching people in the face most days... not sure that's dealing with it."
It was uncharacteristic for him. Not usually belliggerent or one to invite brawling; but he was seething inside, and it wasn't just because of the killing.
"Yes," he replied simply, nodding slightly. The Olson didn't ask for details; Korbin was grateful for that, but divulged anyway. "The Grand Healer butted in when I was out flying. We came upon cannibals... some of the people exiled a few years back, if you recall. They saw us, and attacked." Nothing more to it, really; the details weren't important. He'd done what had to be done, and still felt like shit for doing it.
"After... I somehow ended up spilling my whole life story to Loren. Shock, probably," he said, with a wry twist of the mouth; he wasn't usually that talkative about himself. Telling tales and bantering was one thing, but getting up close and personal was more difficult. Not something he invited to. "Then I picked a fight with Weaver. It went as well as expected." Meaning, he'd gotten his arse kicked. "Still feel like punching people in the face most days... not sure that's dealing with it."
It was uncharacteristic for him. Not usually belliggerent or one to invite brawling; but he was seething inside, and it wasn't just because of the killing.
Is but a dim-remembered story
Of the old time entombed.
Of the old time entombed.
