OoC: You can PP them to the church if you want to - it might be a long trip!
Cwmfen understood him, her fingers retreating from disgust or rejection or whatever it was that plagued her behind her ghostly-white eyes. Slay ground his teeth, frustrated that he could not have returned with better news. He knew if it was his father that had returned, threatening his packmates, he would be ecstatic to see the man's head on a pike. His heart thudded sluggishly in his chest, worn out from the wild adrenaline high that had kept him moving. Cercelee, what would Cercelee say? It hadn't been that long ago when she was the one returning home late, plastered in blood from a fight. But it wasn't her blood - she had been unscathed. And he still had the gall to reprimand her, making her promise to stay safe for his sake. Oh, the hypocrisy... She would have the right to kick him out of their home. He wouldn't be able to hunt for days, maybe more than a week - Cer would be stuck feeding him alongside her cousin's children. Maybe Cat or Cath would want to keep him company, but probably not. He couldn't seem to keep his mind from wandering all over - it was hard to focus on the present, when he didn't want to be there.
"Don't try and blame yourself," he wheezed, lips curving into a half-hearted smile. "Had you been there, you would have fought, and fared better than me, I might add. I failed because I let cowardice..." His voice trailed off, eyes darkening. It would take a while to get over this new hurdle - knowing that there was fear in his soul, that he could not defend others with such a glaring weakness in his quintessence. He had always avoided conflict, but that had been by choice... hadn't it? It wasn't because of fear... Or so he had thought, before last night. Now he was questioning himself all over again.
Could he stand? The easy answer was 'no', but Slay was a stubborn beast, and now stinging from his utter defeat. He could not give in to self-pity, even if he had been revealed as a weaker creature than he used to believe. Closing his eyes to focus on the arduous task before him, the shaggy Secui ground his talons into the soil, inhaling a deep breath to prepare. He had tried before, but not as hard as this. He needed to go home, and no one could carry him there. Baring his teeth in a pained grimace, Slay forced his trembling limbs down, locking them into a standing position. His breath came more quickly than before, ragged and shallow, but he did not cry out. He could stand. "Take me home, Cwmfen... I want to rest," he growled, trying to ignore the half-scabbed gash on his forehead slowly reopening, trickling gore down his muzzle. He knew he was a mess; he just wanted it all to go away.
I've got soul but I'm not a soldier
