For all that he tires of it, Gabranth moves in a single, decisive instant to shove Benedict backwards against the lean trunk of the nearest tree: careful not to hurt him in the process, only end the futility of that wearisome struggle. The vitriol and spite and frothing enmity that threatens to overtake the best of Gabranth's efforts to maintain composure.
He was not built for this. To be so patient. To still be alive.
"How many have you killed, then?" Breath catching in his throat as he asks, the span of his shoulders broad enough to cast Benedict in shade. "Do not speak as if it is some trifling matter, or you will be made more the fool for it when the time comes."
"What I do, I do for you, Benedict Artemaeus. If you wish me gone, say it, and you shall endure neither my concern nor my patience."
no subject
For all that he tires of it, Gabranth moves in a single, decisive instant to shove Benedict backwards against the lean trunk of the nearest tree: careful not to hurt him in the process, only end the futility of that wearisome struggle. The vitriol and spite and frothing enmity that threatens to overtake the best of Gabranth's efforts to maintain composure.
He was not built for this. To be so patient. To still be alive.
"How many have you killed, then?" Breath catching in his throat as he asks, the span of his shoulders broad enough to cast Benedict in shade. "Do not speak as if it is some trifling matter, or you will be made more the fool for it when the time comes."
"What I do, I do for you, Benedict Artemaeus. If you wish me gone, say it, and you shall endure neither my concern nor my patience."