![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
I’m being watched.
Harrowheart knows it without opening his eyes. Beneath the cover of his armor he remains utterly still. His runeblade rests beside him, both of them propped up against the brick wall of his family’s shelter.
Someone is watching him. Someone with a weapon. Someone coming closer.
The empty eye sockets on the blade’s hilt suddenly flare into a powerful flame, and a woman gasps. Harrowheart grips his sword and opens his eyes just in time to watch his sister fumble and drop her rifle.
“Anna!” Harrowheart shouts, and his sister recoils. She dives for the weapon and scrambles back and away. He drops his runeblade in a hurry but it remains standing, waiting for its chance to be used even as its wielder rushes off alone.
“Anna!” Harrow tries again. He reaches out and takes her by the arm and he feels the way she’s trembling. Her eyes are full of fear, but she doesn’t raise the gun again.
”What are you doing out here?” he demands in a whisper that echoes unnaturally through the visor of his helmet.
She doesn’t respond but watches him with an anxiously-blanched face.
He releases her, and to both their surprises she doesn’t flee. Instead she grips her gun and plants her feet and in a shaky voice says, “I was looking for Lawrence.”
Harrowheart pulls off his helmet and her face twists with regret at the sight of his.
“You were looking for Lawrence? Out here? With a gun?”
She purses her lips and looks away, but can’t trust him long enough to keep her eyes averted. “He’s going to teach me to shoot. So I can defend myself. From things like you.”
Of course he deserved that. Of course she’s still hurting. He breathes in just to sigh. Unlike her warm and living breaths there is no puff of fog from his lungs.
“Lawrence shoots well,” he says, and when she doesn’t reply, “When he’s got two arms.”
She spits her words like cobra’s venom: “And whose fault is that?”
His lips press together and he stares her down until her defiance cracks his and he looks away. Another sigh, a breath to center him, and he forces his attention back to her – though he doesn’t quite find the strength to look her in the face.
“Mine,” he says.
Silence.
His eyes drag upward until they find hers, and in the cold of the darkened street they watch each other.
“Anna... I hurt you. And it... Took me too long to realize... That no matter what you said? No matter how bad your words felt? I never should have done what I did. I hurt you, and I let you down, and I’ll understand if you don’t want think of me as family anymore. But right now? This?”
He looks up, and she can’t help following his lead. Night has fallen, but the stars have been suffocated by Winter’s clouds. Reynard’s curse is falling on this place, and it’s only just begun. Neither of them needs to say it. Neither of them can bring themselves to.
“You don’t have to forgive me, but I’ll never forgive myself if I don't help you get strong enough to kill the next son of a bitch who puts his hands on you. Lawrence was a good shot... But I was the rifleman. Anna. Let me teach you.”
Harrowheart holds out his palm.
And for the first time he finds his family’s rifle isn’t heavy in his hand.
~ ~ ~
(( Zandros' Companion Piece ))
Harrowheart knows it without opening his eyes. Beneath the cover of his armor he remains utterly still. His runeblade rests beside him, both of them propped up against the brick wall of his family’s shelter.
Someone is watching him. Someone with a weapon. Someone coming closer.
The empty eye sockets on the blade’s hilt suddenly flare into a powerful flame, and a woman gasps. Harrowheart grips his sword and opens his eyes just in time to watch his sister fumble and drop her rifle.
“Anna!” Harrowheart shouts, and his sister recoils. She dives for the weapon and scrambles back and away. He drops his runeblade in a hurry but it remains standing, waiting for its chance to be used even as its wielder rushes off alone.
“Anna!” Harrow tries again. He reaches out and takes her by the arm and he feels the way she’s trembling. Her eyes are full of fear, but she doesn’t raise the gun again.
”What are you doing out here?” he demands in a whisper that echoes unnaturally through the visor of his helmet.
She doesn’t respond but watches him with an anxiously-blanched face.
He releases her, and to both their surprises she doesn’t flee. Instead she grips her gun and plants her feet and in a shaky voice says, “I was looking for Lawrence.”
Harrowheart pulls off his helmet and her face twists with regret at the sight of his.
“You were looking for Lawrence? Out here? With a gun?”
She purses her lips and looks away, but can’t trust him long enough to keep her eyes averted. “He’s going to teach me to shoot. So I can defend myself. From things like you.”
Of course he deserved that. Of course she’s still hurting. He breathes in just to sigh. Unlike her warm and living breaths there is no puff of fog from his lungs.
“Lawrence shoots well,” he says, and when she doesn’t reply, “When he’s got two arms.”
She spits her words like cobra’s venom: “And whose fault is that?”
His lips press together and he stares her down until her defiance cracks his and he looks away. Another sigh, a breath to center him, and he forces his attention back to her – though he doesn’t quite find the strength to look her in the face.
“Mine,” he says.
Silence.
His eyes drag upward until they find hers, and in the cold of the darkened street they watch each other.
“Anna... I hurt you. And it... Took me too long to realize... That no matter what you said? No matter how bad your words felt? I never should have done what I did. I hurt you, and I let you down, and I’ll understand if you don’t want think of me as family anymore. But right now? This?”
He looks up, and she can’t help following his lead. Night has fallen, but the stars have been suffocated by Winter’s clouds. Reynard’s curse is falling on this place, and it’s only just begun. Neither of them needs to say it. Neither of them can bring themselves to.
“You don’t have to forgive me, but I’ll never forgive myself if I don't help you get strong enough to kill the next son of a bitch who puts his hands on you. Lawrence was a good shot... But I was the rifleman. Anna. Let me teach you.”
Harrowheart holds out his palm.
And for the first time he finds his family’s rifle isn’t heavy in his hand.
~ ~ ~
(( Zandros' Companion Piece ))
