She had taken three eyes for him. She had defeated five opponents for him. She had birthed him four children, she had guarded his women and stolen for him when threat dared to come down upon him. Argent had sacrificed for him so much, so much of her honor and integrity, of what made her a person. She had made him a god, and maybe her heart had strayed, and yet his heart bled all over the place and she never once protested. Never once had Argent begged him to share her den, or make her children heirs, nor so much as asked for rank. She had given so much for him, and what had he sacrificed in return for her?
Nothing, so far as she could tell.
She?d given womb and blood, bone and soul, and in return all she had received was the impression that she would never be important. Once he had told her he loved her, and yet she couldn?t help but feel insecure, as if her feet were on fire. Her one betrayal of him ever, the one thing she had not sacrificed for him had been her commitment to him. And yet, how could it ever be doubted? How could he doubt her of all people, when she had felled six foes in his name, perhaps more to come in the future. How could he when Sendoa did not put up even the slightest of fights when Taurig came to claim her? Argent had made one mistake, because maybe, just maybe, she was hoping to turn into something he would look at as more than a tool.
When he looked upon her, she wanted to be angry. Here she was, gripped by the collar, prepared to be violated once more. When he looked upon her, he did nothing, and Argent was reminded of the time they met. She remembered when they felled many foes together. She remembered how close she felt to him the night that she?d found him again, the memories they built in Glaciem together. And here she was once more, leg broken, crimson eyes locked upon him. She could not bring herself to beg him for help; she?d betrayed him, after all, and instead she watched him blankly. One of her attackers yanked sharply upon her scruff, a possessive growl within his throat, and she shook once more.
Crimson slicked down her neck, rolling from the deepening bite wound on the back of her neck. A paw slammed against her broken leg and she whimpered, quieting for the moment. Would Isardis leave her here to her fate? She could only watch him, trying not to beg or plead. Argent prided herself on never having asked him for anything; she refused to break that now, now when she wondered if his hesitation was sign that he'd rather let her be taken by these beasts than help her. She wondered if he, too, would remember. She wondered if they were fixable, if she could let him see how thoroughly punished she'd been for her one mistake, if he could see that all the sacrifices she'd made for him could outweigh the good.
She'd been traveling for so long, and she wanted to return home. The problem was, he was her home.
