Dragoncrest Cliffs anger is the more productive cousin of fear

Artaax barely spared the medic a glance as she hustled off to retrieve herbs to treat his still bleeding wound. He hardly even noticed the pain, so caught up was he in the emotional turmoil he was trying to pull himself back out of. His bi-colored eyes were glued to nomi's lips as she consoled him. Had the words come from any other, the boy might not have been so easily swayed. But this was his mother, his heda - there was no dark deed he could commit that she couldn't convince him was alright.

He bowed his head, sucking in a steadying breath. His shaking began to subside, but not entirely. He swallowed a few mouthfuls of air before looking up again at Thuringwethil with more steel in his gaze than he'd been able to muster before. Artaax remained silent for a few moments as he collected his thoughts. It was somehow easier to think now that the body had been removed, and now that the heda was filling his head with confidence. But, eventually, he frowned and murmured a quiet confession to his mother.

"I didn't like it... It felt wrong," the boy said softly before his voice strengthened and he straightened, "But if it means I kept my family safe.. I would do it again. Without hesitation."

Tears glimmered in the corners of his eyes unbidden, but Artaax determinedly, stubbornly blinked them away. He was still so young in his heart, trying so hard to be so much older, so much more. In many ways, he had grown. But in many others, he was still just a boy, learning to become a man and hoping desperately that he would be soon.