Sun Mote Copse seems every castle is made of sand

there by the borders, arcturus was left to simmer in his own self-crippling thoughts. over and over, a voice whispered: your brother is dead because of you.

the beta quailed into a defeated slink, his eyes dark as he waited -- hoped -- for wraen.

instead, his first and only conquest appeared. if ever arcturus felt reduced to nothing, it was in this hour. his deeds were being tallied and paraded before him -- not only had he caused the death of his brother, now he was looking at a woman that he had also done wrong by.

his ears fell to his skull and he lowered his body subserviently, gaze averted from the mercenary. "i think i need help." the man admitted, his voice reduced to a pathetic and voiceless whimper.