that heart is so cold (group from the b2g thread)

[Errant]

(Insane, I realized that i wrote Errant as answering the questions the Hurricane asked in the opposite order that he'd actually asked them, so my B for making Errant seem more deceitful than I'd intended. Hopefully I cleared that up in my post xD )

when my time comes around lay me gently in the cold dark earth The big white stallion still seems intent on murder, and Errant bites his tongue. It is not his place to father the man and he is not his king; Errant has no right to correct a grown stallion. He does not agree however, and that much is clear from the sidelong glance that he gives the bulkier stallion. Why they all expect him to be omniscient he has no idea; he knows of the blood he shares with those assembled, but has no preference for his own family over those he has chosen as family. It had served him well in the past, but perhaps the world has changed. Perhaps now he is expected to give preference to those that he has sired, though he doubts that Brennen would ever agree. Regardless, he looks up at Kratos when the stallion asks who will be the one to carry out the sentence. “That would be a task for whomever we choose to replace him.” He replies. Errant does not want to commit murder, but he knows that the line between murder and justice, however thin, still exists. He will be sure that the Tundra does not ever cross that line if he is to become king, and even if they choose another Errant has no intention of allowing vindictiveness to trump fairness. The grey stallion speaks up again, and Errant turns his grey gaze back to the older horse. He cannot help but feel that they are having their own private debate, the results of which the other brothers get the benefit of without ever having to participated. Regardless, he does not feel pitted against the winged stallion; Errant is sure he’d have just as many question were he in the other’s shoes. Well, perhaps he wouldn’t be so eager to pry. He does not catch what has caused the other stallion to laugh and only tilts his head, waiting. Hurricane doesn’t seem any better or worse a candidate than any other (well, perhaps better than the bloodthirsty youths), and Errant realizes that perhaps in his reluctance to re-open his own old wounds he has given Hurricane the impression that he is attempting to hide something. “I can’t prove I’m trustworthy.” Replies the black stallion, allaying for now the fact that a handful of the men have already voiced their trust in him. Errant cannot force Hurricane to adopt the same ideals as the others. “I could make you think I am, though. I could make you think and see a great deal of imaginary things, but I’d rather not. I’ll prove myself the same way any king does, with hard work and with time.” Inadvertently, he’s once again avoided the direct answer to Hurricane’s question of how he plans to make Mountain leave. Damn. “Magic,” he says plainly. “I am a magician. If I wish him to be gone, he will be. But I’ve no desire to constantly keep an arcane eye on him to keep him from the Tundra, and if he breaks the ban we will put on him he will be dealt with.” He does not break eye contact with Hurricane until he is sure that he has done his best to answer the questions. Errant is a magician. Errant could make them all recognize him as king in the time it would take him to walk to the northern sea, but he hasn’t. He is doing his best. e r r a n t no grave can hold my body down i'll crawl home to her