Erich brings up Champion of Honor. He mentions that they all failed. He may or may not notice the way Keisha shrinks back from this, the responsibility that for her is very damn personal. The two elders do, though, sensing in the young woman's form the spirit of a tucked tail, lowered ears, a soft keen of submission and retreat. It's like a scent, and the tall one's nostrils flare, his eyes following her as she departs
The stockier one is watching Erich, uppity little cliath ahroun that he is, wrong-tribed mismatch of a wolf with his way-too-fragile-looking Fang friend, and he frowns. The frown is thoughtful.
"I'll pass it along," is the only promise he makes, and it isn't much of one.
--
A few days later, the Master of Challenges is escorted from 1999 Broadway. Retribution's Fist goes quietly, seethingly, his rage pulsing out of him as a few spare Guardians from Forgotten Questions step through the gauntlet with him to take him to the caern.
Perhaps it says something that none of them are fighting. None of them are resisting to the point of being beaten senseless or locked in silver and dragged away.
--
Even the Grand Elder -- though she is not of that rank -- does not make a fuss, right at the end of September. No one escorts Curved Sky. She is summoned. She leaves of her own accord, taking the elevator down with her assistant and getting into a car to go to Forgotten Questions. Very few people see how white her skin is, how glassy and sick her eyes.
Very few can miss the smell of shame and guilt that follows in her wake.
--
By the beginning of the month, there is one left. He is always the last one left. It is Warning Threshold's duty to be the last one left.
In his offices at the top of Cold Crescent, he continues doing that duty. For now.
The stockier one is watching Erich, uppity little cliath ahroun that he is, wrong-tribed mismatch of a wolf with his way-too-fragile-looking Fang friend, and he frowns. The frown is thoughtful.
"I'll pass it along," is the only promise he makes, and it isn't much of one.
--
A few days later, the Master of Challenges is escorted from 1999 Broadway. Retribution's Fist goes quietly, seethingly, his rage pulsing out of him as a few spare Guardians from Forgotten Questions step through the gauntlet with him to take him to the caern.
Perhaps it says something that none of them are fighting. None of them are resisting to the point of being beaten senseless or locked in silver and dragged away.
--
Even the Grand Elder -- though she is not of that rank -- does not make a fuss, right at the end of September. No one escorts Curved Sky. She is summoned. She leaves of her own accord, taking the elevator down with her assistant and getting into a car to go to Forgotten Questions. Very few people see how white her skin is, how glassy and sick her eyes.
Very few can miss the smell of shame and guilt that follows in her wake.
--
By the beginning of the month, there is one left. He is always the last one left. It is Warning Threshold's duty to be the last one left.
In his offices at the top of Cold Crescent, he continues doing that duty. For now.
my whole life is thunder.