Dragoncrest Cliffs But I won't pray, I've made my grave and I'll sleep in it

She spat her response like it was acid in her throat, and Ephraim frowned, withers ruffling with quiet affront. It may not have seemed like it, because he blurted it out quite suddenly, but it took a lot to feel remorse for the way Rosalyn had been treated. Perhaps because, in the end, she had been let go and still railed against them. We should have killed you, he realized. We should have killed you like we killed Eurycrates and maybe then we would have been left alone. But Ephraim knew nothing of the spite, piss and vinegar that drove the majority of his mother's actions in this world; to think they would have been left alone if things had been handled differently was the naive belief of a little boy, not yet confident enough to be a man.

You don't have to be such a bitch, he remarked, his frown turning into a scowl. Drageda got more than it deserved, and you didn't get enough, and I'm still sorry for how shitty I was to you even though Heda let you go. That was more than Drageda had done for him, in the end, and maybe that was why he felt so bitter to look upon her now with her sour grape attitude and her snark. She'd been set free despite the actions of her pack. Former pack? Who knew, it still made him angry. Why'd your friends have to attack us again? Do you all just like hurting others even after they choose to leave you be? He didn't want to know the answer to that, because to know his family relished the suffering of others on top of what he already believed of them would be too much for him, but it was out there now.