Sunset Valley siúil a rún

staying vague

Panic and indecision gripped him since running into his brother, and he wandered the north plains, pacing to and fro, panting, silently fretting. Occasionally, he'd let out a small whine, or lick furiously at his flanks, as if he was sick. But otherwise, he was silently freaking out, trying to come up with what to do next.

Alarian hadn't made it easy. He never fucking had. But Zamael had thought that perhaps maturity and time had given the boy enough of a head on his shoulders to leave the crazy behind. He hadn't--and he'd driven Zamael to a similar madness, as well. A plan needed to be put in motion, for what to do next--but all Zamael could think about was the look on his brother's face. Shattered. Betrayed.

He hadn't given much thought to abandoning Alarian until today, but now the guilt ate away at him, gnawing at his bones. He should have taken his brother away from Sunfil Grove, away from Arnlith and all that fuckery. He could have given the boy a better life elsewhere. Instead, Alarian had taken matters into his own hands, and was still a broken man, even after all this time. And it was Zamael's fault.

So much did the guilt irritate him that upon catching sight of the woman in the pool, he gave an exasperated snort and walked by her. It was a strange paradox--he desperately needed to unload on someone, but the woman's apparent peace made him angry. Why couldn't he find that peace? Why was he doomed to forever stew in his own emotions?

"What are you so happy about?" Zamael asked sourly, wheeling back around and stomping her way. He supposed it would be weird and uncivil not to speak to her, after making such a big show of passing by. What the fuck ever.