He didn't realize until the words were out of his mouth that he'd been speaking of the Circles in the present tense--and then wasn't, as reality caught up to him. They'd done well, but now they weren't any longer, and this was no temporary supervised jaunt away from a home that was still there to return to, and his life--for the first time and ever--is now entirely in his own hands.
A sick feeling curdles in the pit of his stomach, fertile ground for the very doubt Atticus hopes to sew. Leave, whispers the voice of reason; there's nothing to be gained by standing and fighting here.
Except not being seen as a coward in the face of a pair of monsters. It's Benedict's derision that puts steel back into Myr's spine. "You object to my description?" he directs over his shoulder, then turns and steps back and widens his stance so he's better positioned to speak to both of them.
To Atticus, he adds: "I never earned that title, magister." What other form of address he'd prefer he keeps to himself; he may be digging in on this like an idiot but he isn't so stupid as to give everything away.
no subject
A sick feeling curdles in the pit of his stomach, fertile ground for the very doubt Atticus hopes to sew. Leave, whispers the voice of reason; there's nothing to be gained by standing and fighting here.
Except not being seen as a coward in the face of a pair of monsters. It's Benedict's derision that puts steel back into Myr's spine. "You object to my description?" he directs over his shoulder, then turns and steps back and widens his stance so he's better positioned to speak to both of them.
To Atticus, he adds: "I never earned that title, magister." What other form of address he'd prefer he keeps to himself; he may be digging in on this like an idiot but he isn't so stupid as to give everything away.
Yet.