Look Ma New Scars

Artur stood silently as Cairo enfolded Viv and Geoffrey into a hug, taking the opportunity of their distraction with one another to wrestling his fury back under control, and drifted closer. Geoffrey met his gaze over their siblings, and Artur made the effort to soften his expression. He wasn't sure how successful he was - "soft" wasn't something he was good at expressing. But he made the effort anyway, and gave him a nod. He wouldn't judge his brother for having taken the opportunity to stay away from Valhalla. It hadn't been much more than a year since Artur had first been unable to find him, and a year could pass nearly unnoticed when you were caught up in just surviving. "Slavers," he repeated flatly. He let a sharp breath out through his nose, hot gaze staring off into the direction of Abaven, where he'd left his brother. If he'd checked on Geoffrey more often this wouldn't have happened. He'd have been there to prevent his kidnapping, either through the presence of a fighter convincing them to seek prey elsewhere or by fighting them off, because he sure as hell wouldn't have let them lay a fang on his brother. And now Geoffrey was maimed, and had lost a year of his life at the mercy of slavers. He brought his gaze back to Geoffrey, seeking to meet his gaze again, an unspoken apology in his eyes and face. He should have been there. He should have looked harder when he'd gone missing. Fuck. He was sorry and he couldn't bring himself to express that here, in front of their siblings. Instead he looked down at his paws, furious at himself and at these slavers who were so far out of reach. "How did you escape them?" he asked quietly. This was all very surreal, to see his gentle brother in this light.