I expect to hear Fangorn's voice in answer, but to my surprise, I instead hear the higher, solemn tones of Kal who leans in the laxly doorway, fingers toying at the door I hadn't even realised swung open. There is a pallid look on his face, sombre almost, as if the answer he is about to give is one he knows all to well, yet will break him all the same.
"Because he knew that your people would do so much worse."
Slowly, I turn my head to face him. Ithuriel lingers behind Kal's thin frame, swaying lightly, his long glossy hair flooded with a dark pink the hue of a foxglove, yet despite the vibrancy of the colour, his eyes are dark, devoid of something that I can't quite place.
Perhaps the realisation of that very statement had finally hit him.
Noticing my shifting glances, Kal continues on, drawing my attention back to his as he shifts on to one shoulder, picking at the buttons of his imperial overcoat for the sole need of wanting something else to do.
