[ but, what is that expression? The weight coloring and sanding the cold angles of McGillis's face. So soft as to resemble sorrow. But McGillis had spoken it and Gaelio remembered it well, such soft-hearted emotions unfortunately will not reach me, for I've lived my life in anger, and Gaelio understands, doesn't he, mustn't he, had Bael not confirmed it, brute force all that McGillis comprehended, and so through power, through brutality, Gaelio would force it upon him.
Then, his instinct should be to launch forward, swinging, to gauge whether fists could be enough, to abandon his caution and temperance and see it done now.
Instead, he recoils.
Turning as quickly, he surges away, as though any quicker, he would be running from it. Swallowing hard, then continuously, unable to free himself of the lump. The trees look more sparse ahead, and he thrusts himself toward that light, breaking out and into a field. Gaelio squints against the brightness, measuring his breath as he slows.
Plush grass unattended and little eaten, reaching for knees. A thick coating of yellow and pink flowers, stretching toward the sun in breezy waves. Lovely, really. Batting back memories, recent and wretched, older and doubted, he looks up to the sky.
Above the trees, at a farther distance still, winding in a small tendril: smoke. ]
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[ but, what is that expression? The weight coloring and sanding the cold angles of McGillis's face. So soft as to resemble sorrow. But McGillis had spoken it and Gaelio remembered it well, such soft-hearted emotions unfortunately will not reach me, for I've lived my life in anger, and Gaelio understands, doesn't he, mustn't he, had Bael not confirmed it, brute force all that McGillis comprehended, and so through power, through brutality, Gaelio would force it upon him.
Then, his instinct should be to launch forward, swinging, to gauge whether fists could be enough, to abandon his caution and temperance and see it done now.
Instead, he recoils.
Turning as quickly, he surges away, as though any quicker, he would be running from it. Swallowing hard, then continuously, unable to free himself of the lump. The trees look more sparse ahead, and he thrusts himself toward that light, breaking out and into a field. Gaelio squints against the brightness, measuring his breath as he slows.
Plush grass unattended and little eaten, reaching for knees. A thick coating of yellow and pink flowers, stretching toward the sun in breezy waves. Lovely, really. Batting back memories, recent and wretched, older and doubted, he looks up to the sky.
Above the trees, at a farther distance still, winding in a small tendril: smoke. ]