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and it's our time now if you want it to be
maul the world like the carnival bear set free
I don't understand. "Neither do I," confesses the colt, his face still twisted into an expression of abject misery. His gazes fixes again upon the victorious stallion, each muscle in his frame tensing and frozen anger lurching drunkenly through his mind. You'll pay for this. He looks to Nymeria, expecting her to suggest they go to Confutatis and help her, but she doesn't. One, sharp word warns him off approaching their dam, and after a few seconds of confusion he remembers why his sister is probably right. Their mother, loved though she is, will most likely be looking for a vessel to take out her anger on. Her children moving into her breast for comfort would probably not be well-received. Kicks and bites and venom would rain down upon them, never enough to kill or seriously injure, of course, just enough to ensure the rebuke aches for a good few days afterwards and ensure the twins know their place. Nymeria is probably right. Volterra fears not his own pain, but hers. He hates seeing her hurt by anybody, even their own mother. "Come then - let us leave," he whispers to her. It is probably best for them to be out of sight when Confutatis descends from the Rotunda, lest she find problem with them standing there gawking. Volterra aims to use his side to guide his sister away from the battleground, away from the stench of death and loss and hate, hoping to lead her away to safety where they can mourn in peace well away from the prospect of the World Eater's wrath. |
[ you can't stray from what you are, you're the closest thing to hell i've seen so far ]
[ use of force/magic on him is permitted aside from death/maiming ]
