Silvertip Mountain the bells

His eyes locked with Avicus', daring her, inviting her to sow her hateful discord in their home a second time—

Mama.

It was the weight of a freight train that took his breath away, turned his ironclad gaze to simmering silver with a sheen of fear. He knew, the same way he had initially known that something had happened, that his mother was far beyond any of them now. Aventus knew that this was responsible for the inexplicable dread he was feeling, not Vesta's brutal death nor the slavering bear.

The boy's mouth went dry, tasted of ashes and filled his throat with burning embers. A quiver wracked his spine. Merrick's voice was unlike anything Aventus had heard from the bruin's maw before, and he was falling into step as well before he realized it. He paused only because Arielle appeared in his periphery, and turned a numb, almost unseeing eye on her. On the outside, perhaps he looked collected, but on the inside, he was fighting to control a murderous, reckless impulse he had never known. His father and sister surely felt the same tempest inside themselves. It was his job to ensure they did not get themselves killed.

Oh, how he wanted to throw himself senselessly upon the Saints and exact vengeance for everything those sons of bitches — no, that was too unkind to bitches everywhere — those sons of cravens had ever done, but Astara would not want that. Not for any of them. They had to win, not die.

Protect Ursus, he pleaded, knowing that he could not allow them to depart without him.