Wheeling Gull Isle Fallen from God Fallen from grace

How very sad, how very empty he seemed in that moment - a husk of violence that had stamped out whatever he might've been otherwise. It tore at her heart, urging her to half-rise as if she had planned to reach towards him - sinking back onto her haunches as her muzzle drifted down to nestle against her chest, thinking better of the idea.

"How colorless a world you must have been raised in," she murmured softly, not unkindly. From what she'd gathered, his people sounded like the mountain tribes of Lirean - fearless brutes that centered their lives around war and pillaging. 

"A pointless question," she countered without venom, shaking her head as she turned to him. "It's not about what you deserve - no one can answer that question, nobody can offer you those things just because you 'deserve' them."

"It's about what you want, Rosencrantz," she whispered, turning back to the sea. "Whoever you were before, whatever you did, it's past."

"Who do you want to be here?" This was his chance - no matter what he thought he deserved, he was here now and a clean slate was sitting just before him.