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The murderer has long since lost the patience required of a composed guard. The relationship between captive and captor is not to be a peaceful one, Knox realizes with disappointment and a deep-set frown. But it is not all on his own shoulders, he knows this and bears it with pride. The mare before him is making her own bed of thorns, when he had once offered her to a life of down feathers. Not your fault, his companion reminds him.
No, it is not his fault. "Don't feign pain to get a reaction from me. I know my force, I did nothing more than push you aside," the hunter says cooly, attempting to maintain composure even as she slings insults at him. And so it is perhaps that lack of guilty feeling, stirred once too roughly by Adrixaura's venomous words, that slips the grip of the ancestors. As if being physically held back by ropes suddenly let loose, Dovev lunges forward. His powerful steel form lunges forward mercilessly. She may threaten him all she likes, he is not afraid of her. His teeth snap threateningly, perhaps only inches from her delicate face, and his churning hooves strike the ground before her. If not for Roanne, Dovev might have gone too far. But the pitch Sentinel shifts forth and overtakes the surface of Knox's appearance; Dovev's charge ends in a swift and powerful rear just before Adrixaura.
The Sentinel lands, the tattered black bridle slapping against his face as it hangs loose and sweating with curse. He steps backward, giving her space. "Hiding who I am? Nuh, mim. I do not hide muhsulf as a mutter uf cowurduce. I would not be tuh be thuh futher of yur chyuld, thus is true. But as I am, yuh wull nevur know me becuse yuh do nut ruspect me. Yuh do nut truly want tuh know me," Roanne's words are delivered in his thick and heavy accent, but with sincerity. The hunter sees Adrixaura only faintly now through the haze of Roanne's blindness; she is no more than a shimmering outline of blurred white against a expanse of black. Manhattan understands instinctively, and moves forward to be his eyes. Her body sways and presses against his, blending with the tangled black feathers and mane of the wild beast of the woodlands.
No, Roanne will not be tamed. It is for this reason, perhaps, that the hunter knows he can rest easy behind the solid gold eyes of his father. If any one of his ancestors can deal with Adrixaura, it is the Sentinel. "I buleave we have misunderstood each uther, Adrixauruh. I did nut intend tuh hold yuh hurr. My offur wus fur yur freedum amung us. I shuld nut huv tryd tuh tell yuh whurr yuh belunged, and I apolugize fur my rudeness, but yuh shuld understund that, by rufusing my offur yuh have imprisuned yurself."
The Sentinel's heavy, impressive body steps to the side, aiming to leave her more room that the other ancestors had not aimed to provide her with. Rough as he was in appearance and tone, the Sentinel was a gentle and understanding creature. Perhaps he could speak in a way that she would understand. "I see yuh are an induhpenunt and powurful mare and mothurr, mim, I did nut intund tuh suggest utherwise. Yuh have more thun proven yurself capuble," his young lips sputter as he speaks, his neck flashes upwards and his head follows, exposing the jagged, red scars that still shine fresh on his cheek. The darkness around him is overwhelming and strange. Knox knows blindness in his own silver gaze, trapped by magic, but this is new. This is a cursed blindness, one that puts him at ill ease and forces him to seek out Manhattan's comfort. She has calmed to match the Sentinel, appearing wise and unthreatening as she sits pressed against him.
He remembers what he has heard, the mare's story. To be held captive... in such a manner, and for so long. The hunter senses a shiver within the heart of the Sentinel, catches the slightest quivering of Huric and Janos' souls. They understand the oppression. They know, better than any other, the consequences of such a life and the toll it can take. "I keep yuh hurr not as any surt uf punushment, Adruxura; it sadduns me tuh hear yuh wurr huld in such a mannur. I only wish fur yuh tuh lurn, and understund thuh life yuh could have hurr with yur chyuld. Think, wuld yuh have come hurr if I had nut called yuh?"
Knox watches as if from afar. It is strange for him to inhabit the body of his father, to wrestle with the concept that he is, in part, who his father was. He has, then, at last conquered Mandrake. He has become everything she had hoped he would not.
He cannot help but smile inside. And the sensation bubbles up, over, and through, stretching across Roanne's warm features. His golden eyes look down almost fondly to wash over where he believes the features of the mare. Roanne respects her, as he does all natural beasts that walk this earth. It is this respect that he lets slip through his final words to her. "Patiunce and undurstanding, an attempt tuh accept yur place hurr, purhaps a dusire tuh let it becume something more, thut will urn yuh yur freedom, Adruxura." The hunter watches and waits from within, basking in the knowledge he learns each second, passed on from his father. This is perhaps the only way he could reach Adrixaura, the last chance to appeal to her sense of reason. Maybe it doesn't truly exist, maybe Roanne hopes in vain, but he hopes. That is more than Knox would have done, more than he has ever done.
It is a strange and elusive thing, this hope.
[[Not a problem, no blinding it is! Sorry about the wait of a reply, had some muse issues. I apologize for Roanne's heavy accent, and can translate if you need. Mim = miss+m'am = what he calls mares to be polite]]
KNOX and MANHATTAN
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[O] Evil Souls Fall To Hell, Ever Trapped In Burning Cells [Knox / Open]
