Genesis 087
Feb. 22nd, 2006 01:34 am![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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yrae
Title~ Rescue
Author~ Annarti
Disclaimer~ Still mine
Notes~ Genesis 087. And here I was expecting this to be an Emon fic. How wrong I was *snugs Rumal*
~ ~ ~
Inel sighed, frowning at the back of the swordsman ahead of him.
Normally Rumal rode with his back straight and shoulders back, as though he was always being judged. Ever since Naraan’s death, he’d been hunched over in the saddle, distanced from the rest of the Own, doing just enough to strike down the Kazinians who attacked him.
Obviously they all felt the pain of Naraan’s death, but this was too unlike Rumal. On the other occasions when they’d lost one of their own, the death had always had the reverse effect on the swordsman. He always turned more aggressive, as though the death was a personal insult against him. Usually he wasn’t satisfied until every Kazinian, warrior or otherwise, was lying face-down in the mud, or until they were back on home soil. This was wrong.
The other swordies had tried to pick him up over the past two weeks, but by now they’d given up, and gave the former southerner the space he felt he needed.
Inel shook his head. If he didn’t do something, they’d lose Rumal, either to the depths of depression or to a Kazinian arrow. Inel refused to face either option, even less a third that haunted the back of his mind.
He nudged Spirit’s flanks and directed her over to the swordie, riding silently beside him. He didn’t need to say anything just yet; Rumal knew exactly why he was there.
The southerner didn’t change his position. He still sat hunched over, staring at the back of Lightfoot’s neck, or more specifically, the three-fingered hand that rested on it. It had been bandaged up since the battle, but it was still apparent there was a digit missing.
“It was my fault.” There was no fire in his voice anymore. Instead it had been replaced by despair and self-loathing so intense it made Inel feel uncomfortable.
“Don’t try to convince me otherwise. I’m sick of hearing it. If I had just been thinking, if I hadn’t gotten my finger in the way, if I’d lost the Aeia-damned thing in Ni-Yana, same as everyone else, then I would have deflected that arrow.” The words should have been filled with anger and resentment, but there was none of that anymore.
“Maybe it was partly your fault,” Inel agreed, choosing his words very carefully as always, “Maybe it was partly Kaen’s fault for not throwing the arrow off-target with a knife. Maybe it was partly my fault for having been nowhere nearby to help. Maybe it was partly ‘may’s fault for not having developed her healing magic like Yamin. Maybe it was partly Rau’s fault for not getting him to a healing house sooner. Maybe it was partly Naraan’s for not dodging or deflecting the arrow himself.” He looked pointedly at the swordie. “Maybe it was the Kazinian’s fault for firing the arrow in the first place.”
Rumal looked up, just briefly, but for the first time in two weeks, it was progress. They’d save him yet.
Author~ Annarti
Disclaimer~ Still mine
Notes~ Genesis 087. And here I was expecting this to be an Emon fic. How wrong I was *snugs Rumal*
Inel sighed, frowning at the back of the swordsman ahead of him.
Normally Rumal rode with his back straight and shoulders back, as though he was always being judged. Ever since Naraan’s death, he’d been hunched over in the saddle, distanced from the rest of the Own, doing just enough to strike down the Kazinians who attacked him.
Obviously they all felt the pain of Naraan’s death, but this was too unlike Rumal. On the other occasions when they’d lost one of their own, the death had always had the reverse effect on the swordsman. He always turned more aggressive, as though the death was a personal insult against him. Usually he wasn’t satisfied until every Kazinian, warrior or otherwise, was lying face-down in the mud, or until they were back on home soil. This was wrong.
The other swordies had tried to pick him up over the past two weeks, but by now they’d given up, and gave the former southerner the space he felt he needed.
Inel shook his head. If he didn’t do something, they’d lose Rumal, either to the depths of depression or to a Kazinian arrow. Inel refused to face either option, even less a third that haunted the back of his mind.
He nudged Spirit’s flanks and directed her over to the swordie, riding silently beside him. He didn’t need to say anything just yet; Rumal knew exactly why he was there.
The southerner didn’t change his position. He still sat hunched over, staring at the back of Lightfoot’s neck, or more specifically, the three-fingered hand that rested on it. It had been bandaged up since the battle, but it was still apparent there was a digit missing.
“It was my fault.” There was no fire in his voice anymore. Instead it had been replaced by despair and self-loathing so intense it made Inel feel uncomfortable.
“Don’t try to convince me otherwise. I’m sick of hearing it. If I had just been thinking, if I hadn’t gotten my finger in the way, if I’d lost the Aeia-damned thing in Ni-Yana, same as everyone else, then I would have deflected that arrow.” The words should have been filled with anger and resentment, but there was none of that anymore.
“Maybe it was partly your fault,” Inel agreed, choosing his words very carefully as always, “Maybe it was partly Kaen’s fault for not throwing the arrow off-target with a knife. Maybe it was partly my fault for having been nowhere nearby to help. Maybe it was partly ‘may’s fault for not having developed her healing magic like Yamin. Maybe it was partly Rau’s fault for not getting him to a healing house sooner. Maybe it was partly Naraan’s for not dodging or deflecting the arrow himself.” He looked pointedly at the swordie. “Maybe it was the Kazinian’s fault for firing the arrow in the first place.”
Rumal looked up, just briefly, but for the first time in two weeks, it was progress. They’d save him yet.
no subject
Date: 2006-02-21 07:12 am (UTC)*hugs Rumal*
no subject
Date: 2006-02-21 08:28 am (UTC)