</style>  

Knox swings when he walks. Like a boozy piano player, a drunken sort of melody, he moves. His lips are in a constant state of motion, as if he is chewing. But no, he is praying to some maddened god in the distance, some ancient creation he no longer believes in. He mouths the words but fails to speak them, finding each and every one dead upon his tongue. Still they echo in his mind, a repetitive chorus of oh father forgive me for all I have done for I know I'm your son and I'm the only one so dear father forgive me for all I have done I am wracked I am ruined I'm your shame and son, oh father forgive me for all I have done...

Over and over the words haunt him. He doesn't know where he came up with them--perhaps it was in a dream. All Knox knows is he woke up with the melody of it and now he is stuck with every bump in the tune like some sort of incurable disease. And truly, for his shame and the dishonor he has brought to the Sentinel's good name, he is sorry.

It is not like the hunter to beg for forgiveness, and perhaps that is why he feels so nauseous now. Birdsong brings with it a beautiful, sweet scent and the pity of light winds but he feels violent and uncontrollable. Knox's body shakes; he finds himself in a cold sweat every morning. Especially this morning. Especially this one.

His dark body cuts through the sparse wood, looking for someone, for something. He snaps branches between his teeth, relishing in the cracking sound. His face, still mangled from his spar with Amaris, aches. He does not press his magic to the injury now, and allows himself to live in part darkness. This is the price of shame, of all that he has done and should not have in his life.

If he believed he were truly alone, he might have wailed about it. But the fact of the matter is Knox never is alone, not really, and so when he hears a snapping of a body in the wood in the distance his whole body stiffens. Suddenly, the hunter is on alert.

"Who's there?" he calls out into the darkness, thinking as loudly as he can that he hopes it is no one.

Please stay, comes the faint hope in his mind for otherwise.

""

When the mare arrives, bringing with her little joy, Knox finds himself automatically soothed. It isn't that she says or does anything to ease his nerves or pain, but as soon as he is not alone he has a reputation to keep up. A mask to wear, an identity to hide, some sort of object or goal for every conversation--these are the things that company thrusts upon him. These are what comprise his duty.

And it is true, very true, that Knox needs something to occupy his time. A task, something as menial as stealing from those with their eyes permanently shut, is enough to keep the pain at bay.

He turns so that his sighted eye finds her and nods slightly. He knows the name... was she perhaps here years ago, during the best years of The Grey? Knox can't imagine he would recognize anyone still in the Falls from anywhere else, but he refrains from asking her about her past. For now.

"Not one of my fellow thieves, then,"  he muses aloud, narrowing his eyes and flaring his nostrils to cover the fading memory of his upset. As much as it might still be there he cannot let it show. As much as it hurts to simply see another bonded to a companion now, what feels so soon after Manhattan's death...

"A pleasure, Lakota. " Knox says, failing to mention the bear beside her. He considers asking now where they have met, but thinks better of it, lest he jog her memory of him in the process. However he knows her is something he is willing to let them all forget. "If my call interrupted you in the middle of some task, please. Don't let me keep you," Knox says, sounding uncharacteristically polite. But he's really just probing, trying to find out more if he can. Does the are have any tasks to complete? Is she a healer or soldier, or simply a layabout mare with nothing to contribute to this herd?

And, if she does, will she perhaps leave him alone to go do it?

""