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Eyes squinted slightly in reflex as an arrow darted past his face – the slight air current from its passage rustling a few of his gilded locks. Pupils amidst his crimson eyes flawed with their father’s purple did not wander from her changing face however. The Salsolan had always found it fascinating to watch emotion pulse and turn inside others. He had been born hollow and wrong, and did not know what it was like to be in emotional shoes.
She spoke her words carefully, with a voice that rumbled with her intention. Her half-sibling did not doubt that she’d mean for the next arrow to strike his flesh. She was like the rest of them; exploding with feeling once the message struck home in their frail little hearts. So many unanswered questions remained, but she didn’t seem able to think of them at all. What steered her now was her newborn anger, bright and terrible in her chest. But if she didn’t wish to learn more, then he would of course respect her decision.
Although he doubted her impeccable skill once she gained a swiftly moving target, he did not wish to turn from her. The lines of rage and hurt on her face were how he would remember her, and he wished for the moment to last. Slowly, he started to step back and away from her angry form. When the opportunity rose, his form darted in behind the sturdy form of a tree, and he immediately gained more freedom to move without so much risk. ”It was the right thing to do,” he lowly called out as parting words. She wouldn't want to believe that, but it was his truth. Conor has been sick, as sick as his father before him and as sick as the son he so unwittingly had inserted into Halo's womb.
All was ruined now, and it was for the best. The undergrowth quietly rustled as he stole away, heading back in the direction that would lead him back to the borders of Salsola.
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