Dragoncrest Cliffs Where we break when our hearts are strong enough

Funny, how I forgive you slid down into his breast and warmed him with the efficacy of a long quaff of piping hot tea. Easy told him she was scared too, and that helped a bit. If an adult like her was frightened of war then he could hardly be held accountable for being so scared for his pack and himself that he'd lost his head completely. And yet... no one else had lost it the way he had, had they? He supposed he didn't really know. He'd been too busy locked inside his own head.

Was I... the only one...? He gulped and didn't finish the sentence, instead casting his morose face out toward the sea. Heda's gonna kick my ass, he sighed quietly. What a joke of a warrior I am. She must be so mad. He had managed to hit Eurycrates before Mallaidh ended him, and he did take a chunk out of Svalinn. He'd escaped Illidan's attack unscathed, though that was pure dumb luck. None of these things felt like victories to him, though. To Ephraim, they were all overshadowed by the traitorous act of turning on one of his own comrades, even if it was an accident.

What if they come back? he asked in a very small voice, though he refused to turn his head toward the little beach nestled in the great shadow of Drageda's claim. He wasn't frightened of them. Not really. They'd lost, after all, and gained nothing but pain. But he was frightened of having to fight another battle like that, and of maybe losing control of himself again. If he had to be in that situation, he would prefer it be for a cause greater than this.