you can't offer your poison to me
in your kingdom of filth

They are not left alone for long. Wrath almost detests it, these smiling - what were their names? Hellvoonians? Fitting at least, only the insane could be so disgustingly kind - bobbleheads with their unfettered niceties. Their version of suffering is nothing in comparison to what he has faced, what he has worked so damn hard to keep Kratos from. They think that just because they are in Hellvoonia now, their scars will fade away? Wrath hates them, hates them for their kindly gods - are they even kindly? Kratos' suddenly missing wounds would have attested otherwise - and hates them even more for their optimistic outlooks. Do they not understand the horrors he has seen? How can they assume that he will acclimate to this foreign world? 

Kratos, at least, has a chance. He is young and malleable, and though Wrath is rather young as well, he has seen far too much to ever consider his body to be an accurate judge of age. So long as Kratos could heal and move on, however, Wrath would allow their sickening positivity. No matter how he desired to grab them by the base of their manes and shake them about, scream profanities at them. YOU WILL NEVER UNDERSTAND WHAT I HAVE SEEN AND BEEN THROUGH. YOU WILL NEVER COMPREHEND MY SACRIFICES. Instead he prowl through the labyrinth, wary because he swears he can still see the shadows that had concealed he and Kratos no even a few hour earlier. He distrusted the goddess, did not think that the shadows would not return, the sickness and the rest of the Rift returned to overwhelm Helovia. Another conquered land, as he'd seen so many times. 

He does not overlook her, he is not so full of folly to allow such a mishap to occur. He is a soldier, and though the physical battle is over, it's never truly done. Life itself is a battle, and he triumphs over it every day that he continues to breathe. Every moment is precious, and yet he can see them trickling carelessly by in the eyes of this land's inhabitants. They have no idea what it is they hold in their grasp, and he hates them for it. 

She approaches cautiously, and he commends her for that, though he knows not that kindness is steering that decision in her head. Wrath turns his orange gaze upon her, craters hissing with magma, and awaits her vocals. They come softly, kindly, and he is so fucking sick of that damn word that he might choke on it if he ever tries to speak it. "Yes, he says tersely. "I am Wrath. What can you tell me about this land?" he is brutal and to the point, he is not there to entertain her he is there for information and only information. Herds, groups, directions. Anything that can help him keep Kratos alive in this new environment. 

The land may be prettier and hailed as peaceful, but it would turn on them in time. It always did.