~ TARKYN ~
Pride comes before a fall.
The echo of the Creator's voice—the one that spoke not to ears, but to the heart—only made his rage climb.
Tarkyn slammed his fists into the dirt and dead leaves, roaring again as he leaped to his feet and threw himself back into the forms. "Answer me! WHY SHOULD I CARE WHAT YOU THINK, WHY SHOULD I DO WHAT YOU ASK WHEN—"
He misjudged his step and squawked as a tree branch slapped him in the eyes when he turned.
He cried out, whipping himself away from the flash of light and pain in his vulnerable eyes, his toe hooking on an unnoticed clod of dirt and sending him off his feet again.
He didn't spring back up this time, but sat there, blinking, eyes screaming, vision blurred, and he panicked—had he stupidly, pridefully blinded himself on the morning of potential battle?
