Facing my choices

He had stuck to his decision, but it didn't sit well in his gut. Two were alive, she swore. He hadn't gone to confirm with Gwynevere. He didn't want to have that conversation with the young healer. Two were alive, so she claimed. But he had still insisted that she be gone by morning - though less harshly and with more amendments than his first demands. A deep, burning hatred, an anger he wasn't used to feeling, a frustration that ran all the way though his core, they all drug him down under their weight as he moved through the castle. He lingered in the main corridor by the main entrance, moving outside for a bit and looking up at the sky. He wanted to scream, he wanted to go tear apart more training dummies, he wanted to cry. Every time he looked at Aranea he could only feel hatred, but the children... the children that could still be growing, alive... That was enough to add a heavy dose of guilt to the swirling storm of emotion raging through him.

He needed another opinion, whether it was chastising him for what he had done or reaffirming that what he had done was right, he didn't really care. He just needed something to give some perspective. He struggled with who he could go to for a long moment, hesitating where some of the corridors met, but ultimately his paws carried him to Eska's room. He didn't want to admit that Aranea could be carrying his children to the woman that he was so infatuated with, but if there was a chance, no matter how slim it was, that he might have a child or two appear then he would want to tell her ahead of time either way. The thought of Aranea's presence possibly ruining his building relationship with Eska made his blood boil, but he tried to let it cool and simmer by the time he got to Eska's door.

It was very late and the thought did cross his mind that he should wait till morning to keep from waking her, but he also knew that if he didn't get this off his chest he'd never sleep and then he'd just be adding exhaustion to the long list of things tearing him apart. He knocked his paw on her door, calling quietly, "Eska? Can I talk to you?"

Ulric Adravendi