12-13-2015, 04:12 PM
The high pride of a reckless young king creates many regrets for soul of an older, wiser one. Munroe and his treatment of him (much like his treatment of his own son, Kreios) could be counted among such a regret. The boy had always been too feral for an actual conversation but beyond that, he had been half-starved and near death when Yael had brought him home to warm his flesh beneath their sun.
He would have let him stay and perhaps had even been gracious about it. And even though there would have been no sympathy afforded to the wild boy from Vanquish, he would have at least allowed him sanctuary here. If Yael wanted to care for him, that was her choice and that, too, would have mattered not to the king and he would not have interfered. But then she had come to him and she had dared to think to call him a Prince of the Deserts? That is what had sent a river of fury down the draft’s spine and turned him into was a churning, unreasonable storm of egotism. He had berated Yael as if she was a true fool, as if she were not his equal. He had laughed at them both, pity and disgust heavy in his gaze as he glared at them. And then he had turned his back on them both.
Now when the dun stallion makes his way up to face him with his chest fluffed and gaze filled with challenge – a soft smile touches the lips of the Nightwalker. He was glad that Munroe had stayed in the Deserts, though he had never truly thought that he would have left Yael’s side even in maturity. “Yes,” he says, dropping his lofty head down so that he could meet the gaze of the boy-stallion, “and I have hurt you too, haven't i?” He asks, his voice so quiet that only Munroe could have been privy to his words, “I won’t do it again,” he says, nodding his head, “perhaps you can forgive me?”
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vanquish
black king of the deserts
