Ulrik had been on the island, but he and Kirchoff had wandered much too far away to make it to the battle until all was said and done. He watched as some left, others bent over bodies in mourning and many injured tending to their wounds. There was little place here for an engineer, though he would admit to fantasizing about bending those bodies and bones with metal, seeing if his currents would send impulses through their systems. If only the world weren’t so narrow minded; he could do his work in peace.
“Narrow minded? You’re a sick bastard and you call others narrow minded?”
The bronzed stallion stared at Kirchoff, snorting in amusement. He couldn’t deny that particular accusation, so he didn’t respond. Instead, he found a gathering of those in his own, new herd and looked at them curiously. Mauja was in the ground wrapped around Sno – the filly he had given a wolf to so long ago – when she was just a babe really.
She was obviously dead. Something stirred in his chest, an emotion he struggled to define, but he felt something. What he didn’t realize was that it was akin to sadness, and he approached slowly, watching a mare practically throw herself at the grieving stallion and another one question his choices. Ophelia looked downright batshit, but when did she not? Ulrik frowned, seeing Roskuld walk away and he approached quietly, leaning down to offer Sno a final ruffle of her forelock.
Then, he stepped away, starting the task of building a float for her body. This island of destruction was not her home – not any place to be buried. With metal and magic, he made a large tray and a spinning fan on the back. They could drag her to shore and guide it back to the mainland. This would be the second time he made a vessel for a corpse. They should call him the Mortician, not the Engineer.
|
.svg/2000px-Google_Chrome_icon_(2011).svg.png){kind=icon}
⇒
[O] "this is the part where you look at me
