Ghost Lion Crag If you face the fear that keeps you frozen

The girl screamed back at him, flinging her own pain and anger and heartache into his face with just as much violence as he'd done to her with his. Artaax stood and glared at her, enraged, incredulous. Had she not heard a word he'd just said? Who the fuck cared if her whole family was dead if it had been the simple whim of fate? His family had chosen to leave him. He would rather they had burned to ash, every last one of them, if they had at least tried to remain alive. If they'd only tried to stay with him.

Artaax felt numb with cold fury as she spun away and made to run from him. He had only a split second to praise the gods that she'd done so before she tripped and was falling. He blinked in surprise when she hit the ground and stood frozen for a moment as she lay crumpled upon the ground, sobbing into his earth. Scathing words rose in his mind - words with which he could hurt her more deeply, and make her realize that her pain was a selfish, pointless sort of pain. They had both lost their families and they both clearly reeled from that loss. But Artaax would've rather his loved ones had burned to ash to be swept away in the wind if they had only fought to stay with him instead of being the ones to light themselves.

Had life always been so cruel? To make one's pain and suffering so terrible that they truly envied the pain and suffering of another?

When another moment passed and Artaax spoke, it was with a soft voice that was empty of anger and filled with exhaustion and defeat. "You need food," he murmured, looking away from her to the rocky alcoves to the East where he knew he could find a quick and easy meal. He had exhausted all of his rage and his pain, and when that happened, there was only the ghost left. And even the ghost of what he had once been was innately predisposed for the same core functions that had once driven Thuringwethil's son - to shelter and protect.