[ The response is immediate; he doesn't even need to think about whether or not he deserves something so basic as survival. Her healing is wasted on him, better spent on someone who hasn't been nothing but a wandering corpse.
He keeps walking, though. If the world has deemed it so that he must trudge on, then trudge on he will. ]
You wouldn't be saving me if you knew what I've done.
[ It isn't a threat, just a blunt statement of fact. The blood on his hands is metaphorical, but it is there, staining everything he touches deep crimson. His body hasn't stopped aching for five years, the acute pain of each time he's been stabbed or shot through with an arrow. That anger that has always simmered away inside of him, roused out of it's slumber into a howling crazed beast, lingers just out of what's left of his vision, whispering into his ear to kill, kill, kill. It's all he's good for until he takes that woman's head.
Still, a part of him thinks he should be grateful to Hilda. At least this way he still has a chance of letting his father and stepmother rest. ]
[ If he had stopped walking, if he had simply given up it probably would have incited a rage that so very few people got to see. The ones who had were somewhere on this battle field, unable to tell others what they had seen. (If they had, what would they say? A pint sized flash of pink wielding an axe made of bone felt like a ridiculous notion to her even though it was a well-known, poorly kept secret that she was far more of a threat than she wishes she were.) And the others were those that she trusted far above and beyond any faith that she might have for Fodlan's Goddess were, hopefully, somewhere safe.
Instead, the Boar Prince receives a fraction of what he would have been subjected to had he simply laid down on the cold hard earth. For a moment his despondent response makes her second guess her actions. For a split second, he makes her feel like what she knows is right into something bitter on her tongue. Annoyance splits across her face manifesting into mild venom. ]
What are you talking about?
[ Her head turns towards him, or rather, up at him with a gaze full of fury. ]
Look where we are. Look at what all of us just did. If that's the case then no one deserves to keep living after this.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
[ The response is immediate; he doesn't even need to think about whether or not he deserves something so basic as survival. Her healing is wasted on him, better spent on someone who hasn't been nothing but a wandering corpse.
He keeps walking, though. If the world has deemed it so that he must trudge on, then trudge on he will. ]
You wouldn't be saving me if you knew what I've done.
[ It isn't a threat, just a blunt statement of fact. The blood on his hands is metaphorical, but it is there, staining everything he touches deep crimson. His body hasn't stopped aching for five years, the acute pain of each time he's been stabbed or shot through with an arrow. That anger that has always simmered away inside of him, roused out of it's slumber into a howling crazed beast, lingers just out of what's left of his vision, whispering into his ear to kill, kill, kill. It's all he's good for until he takes that woman's head.
Still, a part of him thinks he should be grateful to Hilda. At least this way he still has a chance of letting his father and stepmother rest. ]
no subject
Instead, the Boar Prince receives a fraction of what he would have been subjected to had he simply laid down on the cold hard earth. For a moment his despondent response makes her second guess her actions. For a split second, he makes her feel like what she knows is right into something bitter on her tongue. Annoyance splits across her face manifesting into mild venom. ]
What are you talking about?
[ Her head turns towards him, or rather, up at him with a gaze full of fury. ]
Look where we are. Look at what all of us just did. If that's the case then no one deserves to keep living after this.