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A fragment of what's been left behind Controlling was not a sentiment that registered in the Bloodskald's mind. Who was he to make Ophelia do or not do? Feel or not feel? Who was he to force anyone here - the mares he didn't know (one of whom looked rather like the very polkadotted coward he loathed), Gaucho, even Mauja - to do anything? He couldn't control a one of them. But he could damn well try to protect the one he cared about. If that meant trying to force the Frostheart back, he would do it, over and over, until his joints stopped working and his hooves bled and he collapsed without a breath of life left, if it meant keeping Ophelia from his toxicity. To say the pale stallion was not to touch her was a matter of honor, an observation of truth: something so despoiled did not deserve to touch something so pure. And perhaps that is what he should have said. "You don't deserve to touch her." But the folly of emotion was that words oftentimes gave way and eloquence fell by the wayside, like a bucket full of rocks kicked off a cliff. Torleik knew he should do better, be better, but he couldn't will himself to improve at this junction of space and time. Besides, what did it matter? Was he so wrong to be so angry? "Can't you see their love lives? He steals her." An audit flicked to the side, hearing these words whispered so serpentine in his ear, and frowned. That voice was not of his own mind. Torleik's eyes darted right, left, seeing no one that may have spoken it, and he felt his mouth go dry. His recent palaver with the Goddess of the Moon...was she warning him of buried truth? The thought of this pale, blood-splashed perfection still loving the craven brute beside him made him sick and his muscles quivered with a nauseating concoction of fear and rage. Was it true? Could it be true? Could he handle it if it were? Brazen and thundering as he was, headstrong and impassioned, Torleik knew that if Ophelia were to turn to him and defend Mauja, push his concern away for the selfishness that polluted the pure desire to see her remain unharmed because she deserved better... He would let her. It would hurt like a thousand shards of glass driven beneath his skin, but he wouldn't fight her here. And when he made his case to her later, if she rejected him again, he would let her. Mauja was a fool to think Torleik had any intention of controlling Ophelia; the Bloodskald was all too aware that he could not even if that was his desire. Would his anger make an exception of this and try to bend the Frostheart to his will? In this moment, yes. Would he throw up the siege of his dogged determination against the fortified walls of the spotted stallion's yearnings in this realm? Every time. But that was because he could only do what he believed was best. And he could not conceive of a world where Mauja was best for Ophelia. Perhaps, that doubting sliver of his mind that had been set afire by the voice outside his consciousness prodded, he was not best for Ophelia either. Perhaps he was unworthy. If so, then he deserved to lose her. The rabicano prayed it was not so, but only time would test the validity of that. As it marched on, he would do his best to be the best for her sake, and nothing else. Not for pride, for proving anyone else wrong, or even for smashing Mauja's face in it to show him his own failure. That sort of foundation could not support anything pure. But when it came down to it, if he had to, could he let her go? The frail, fumbling answer his mind strove to come up with was silenced when he felt the warmth of her voice break the cold stillness of the air that had pervaded after his stormy entrance. She was all right. She was okay. Tension melted from his bones at this relief and he took a slight step back. If she claimed she was fine he would not undermine her statement in front of others. Torleik knew he had failed her once in a situation with a crowd; he had promised he would not do so again. She claimed 'it' felt like Deimos' magic and the understanding that he knew utterly nothing of this situation crawled over the rune-horned like a thousand spiders. A tiny little speck of hotness flickered on inside him, a pilot-light of shame. He'd come thundering in without taking stock of anything else. Casting his gaze around, his crystalline orbs fell on the burning body with little outward change. Who was this one? Not that it might have mattered...Torleik had found his relatively short time in this land had left him without ties to many of the dead. Still, out of respect, the dual-horned stallion studied the sad pyre, searching for clues. Teasing them out was difficult; the flames were distracting and he felt like his throat was closing - then Ophelia's words returned to him. "Fire... Fire is destructive and strong, but is it not also powerful and beautiful?" Another murder had taken place here, another life lost, but was it not beautiful that the dead were honored with cleansing flame? Was it not beautiful that something so strong consumed and freed something so weak? From his limited knowledge, Torleik assumed Gaucho had done this given the fire he clearly wielded. That added to the suspicion. But something clicked then, in the places the fire hadn't taken over, the colors, and he knew. Psyche. No. He'd met the one-time Lady of the Basin long ago when he'd first chanced upon Helovia, and while she'd struck him as an expert manipulator, there had been something...more about her that he'd wished to learn. Then she'd abdicated, disappeared, and Torleik had never seen her again - though he had helped Illynx to find her. Now Illynx was gone, too. The barbaric pegasus gruffly inquired as to what they did now and the Bloodskald glanced down in shock when he felt Ophelia's body against his, her warmth mingling with his own, pleasure filling his nerves. It was good he was here, then. She needed him - or at least, was willing to lean on him. The satisfaction at being useful faded and worry crept in at her action. Was she not all right? Had she lied? If so, he would keep her lie and not let others see it. So he stood, bolstering her quietly, drawing no extra attention to her movement as Ophelia spoke. She directed her words to the warrior Gaucho, speaking of how his mind seemed so dark. She had been in his mind? She could do that? The idea that the Forsaken had free access to come and go from his mental space did not anger Torleik as he thought it would. He had no darkness to wrap in pretty cloth to make it seem better; no lies to guild with glittering bits of truth in an effort to conceal. Or did he? Scarred lips frowning once more under the realization that there were things in his head he wished to keep his, Torleik began to wonder. But that was for later. Now would wait for no personal matters; now had to be dealt with now. As the head of his herd asserted, he, too, found these clues indicative of Gaucho's involvement. But - Mauja had a sentiment Torleik echoed. For as much as he loathed the man, the Bloodskald wasn't so petty as to ignore him or belittle valid statements. Phi suggested they bring this matter before the gods and his spine clenched. The gods. What good were they. His expression softened when she looked up at him saying she didn't know what to do and it scared him to think Ophelia was looking to him for guidance. What if he failed her? He had to try... Gently, words murmured for her only, he gave her his answer: "We try to do what is right." It was simply stated and no so simply executed, but it was a truth he felt confident in. Now he would elaborate for the others. "Ophelia makes a point - many of these clues do speak to your person, Gaucho. The feathers, the bone, the snakeskin..." he trailed, voice much calmer than before but no less strong. "But," he stated, glancing at Mauja for the briefest of moments, "Mauja speaks to a question I also have: the white feathers. Clearly you have none. And the crystals on another body? I see none on you." Thoughts flew apart, came together, and he took a breath, pausing - should he? This was too delicate of a situation to stay quiet for fear. "I do not know how justice works in Helovia, but my people required unanimous consent of punishment for any alleged crime amongst those gathered at the hearing. These deaths span multiple herds and that would be far too difficult but...he must be given fair trial somehow." Only traitors were put to death without chance to absolve themselves. Gaucho was not a traitor, as far as Torleik knew. Mauja...well. His anger had cooled and his thoughts were clearer. Though the pale Ice King might have betrayed Ophelia in the Bloodskald's mind, he knew nothing of him betraying those he once served or led. If either were the killer, they deserved a chance to speak to their innocence before being condemned. The issue of the gods still hung in the air and he glanced around at each face. "My experiences with the gods...do not reassure me they will help us," he said honestly, floating his indifferently dissenting opinion from the Forsaken's with some tact. "Perhaps Ophelia is right; maybe this concerns them enough to give aid or take action. I do not know. What does this party think?" Torleik questioned. In a sense, all here were a small tribunal. They could discuss, make decisions, take action. He had to be fair; his honor demanded it. "talk talk talk" |
![[Image: 531c0b471919e]](http://images.helovia.net/index.php/view/531c0b471919e)
No man is an island.
Pixel by: Tamme :D
Pixel by: Tamme :D
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