Moonspear he said, 'my boy you've got to run,'

be patient, his mother pleaded — but it fell on deaf ears. arcturus was too young to be patient, too full of that juvenile fire to have learned that in nearly all situations, one could usually afford to wait. arcturus was not waiting; the clock strike had fallen, and with it arcturus’ impressions of what his family thought of him. 

he had little else to say; his mind was a whirlwind of unspoken curses and fits, rational speech and slurred words at once — words that would never be uttered because in this moment arcturus’ measured composure had fell away for something hot and flustered. he had already seen how loyalty and service above self paid off; it didn’t. 

with a huff, the boy shook out his dark coat and turned to storm off, much like a teen would steal to their room (and of course slam the door) after an altercation with their parents. frustrated, hurt, and beyond consolation, arcturus believed it his only recourse.