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the fine line between love and hate
It wasn’t his fault? His teeth grit as she spoke, jaw clenched as he sought for some semblance of control over the shame, anguish, guilt, and anger that welled in him. But there was no outlet for such emotions, they were aimed at himself. She claimed to know the dangers of pregnancy; how it had happened often to her female soldiers.
His rage billowed from his eyes as his neck that was clenched around hers released. He took a few steps away from her, chest growing hot as his control slipped; the water sizzled around the black skin as elephantine trumpets sounded in his ears. “You knew the dangers?” his deep rumble was hoarse and quiet, “What of me? I did not know them. Do you think I would have risked your unborn child to Mawindo’s spite?” His ears tilted back as shame billowed up his throat, trying to choke out anger’s flames.
He was angry at a mother who had lost her unborn child, in order to eradicate the injustice and corruption of Makutano. She was right, in some sense: they all had made sacrifices and they all had burdens. “But you didn’t need to carry that burden, alone,” his murmur was quiet, unbidden, as any command over his tongue and mind left with the sizzling steam around his chest.
His silence lasted for a few, long moments. Navy eyes undulated between cold pain and hot anger as he watched the golden yellow of Ada’s. He watched her closely, hard eyes staring at her black-lined face. She had made a choice, and she was right in that it was hers to make. She had let them take her child from her, ripped from the womb with horns angry from distorted information and manipulation. It was a death he could have prevented, another child’s blood that could still be pumping by a live heart. Finally, his deep voice rumbled, head bowing slightly, “Yes, it was your decision to make, Ada. But it does not affect just you. Do you think I wanted your child to die? Do you think Mawindo wanted to be a child-killer?” He blinked, eyes leaving her face as his accusations melted his anger once he spoke them aloud.
So, when he spoke again, the crack in his voice was genuine, even as he spoke the the water’s rippling surface, “Samahani, kipaka.”
Samahani = I am so very sorry.
His rage billowed from his eyes as his neck that was clenched around hers released. He took a few steps away from her, chest growing hot as his control slipped; the water sizzled around the black skin as elephantine trumpets sounded in his ears. “You knew the dangers?” his deep rumble was hoarse and quiet, “What of me? I did not know them. Do you think I would have risked your unborn child to Mawindo’s spite?” His ears tilted back as shame billowed up his throat, trying to choke out anger’s flames.
He was angry at a mother who had lost her unborn child, in order to eradicate the injustice and corruption of Makutano. She was right, in some sense: they all had made sacrifices and they all had burdens. “But you didn’t need to carry that burden, alone,” his murmur was quiet, unbidden, as any command over his tongue and mind left with the sizzling steam around his chest.
His silence lasted for a few, long moments. Navy eyes undulated between cold pain and hot anger as he watched the golden yellow of Ada’s. He watched her closely, hard eyes staring at her black-lined face. She had made a choice, and she was right in that it was hers to make. She had let them take her child from her, ripped from the womb with horns angry from distorted information and manipulation. It was a death he could have prevented, another child’s blood that could still be pumping by a live heart. Finally, his deep voice rumbled, head bowing slightly, “Yes, it was your decision to make, Ada. But it does not affect just you. Do you think I wanted your child to die? Do you think Mawindo wanted to be a child-killer?” He blinked, eyes leaving her face as his accusations melted his anger once he spoke them aloud.
So, when he spoke again, the crack in his voice was genuine, even as he spoke the the water’s rippling surface, “Samahani, kipaka.”
Samahani = I am so very sorry.
@Adaeze
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