It turned out that Trix would get her wish.
Asher kicked his boots off and glanced grumpily at his blood-stained gear, nudging it towards the stand meant to hold it all and promising himself he clean and polish everything tomorrow after he'd had some sleep.
Rummaging around, he tidied up in a methodical sort of way that clearly meant he was deep in thought, working more on autopilot, occasionally shuffling awkwardly around the dogs when they ended up in his way. The Swordmaster picked up a length of leather decorated with a few beads and the large canine tooth of some carnivore, slipping it over his head so that it rested over his heart. His fang pendant wasn't something he wore into battle, but it was common for Thunderfang members, especially fighters, to wear some kind of fang.
When Verissa finally got up and sat down on the bedroll, Asher watched the dogs position themselves around her. He bent over the stove, closing the shutters to douse the flame until only a dull red glow played across his muscular body. If they were lucky, the smoldering coals would keep the tent warm until morning. Straightening up, he saw that Verissa had turned her back to him and was not surprised. His footsteps moved closer until he was standing over her and then leaning down. The links of her long chain jingled as he attached it to the post, but there was enough slack that his movements didn't actually pull at her arms.
And then...he went to bed, the partition flap closing behind him as he retreated to the other side of the tent. Verissa would be able to hear the sounds of him kicking his trousers off and sitting down on the heap of furs, the wooden bedframe creaking slightly as he crawled towards a wooden trunk at the end.
On top of this trunk was a small beeswax candle burning smokelessly, the wax captured by the small bowl in which it sat. Around it were arranged the desperately few items off Wren's that Asher had left in the world. Most were simple things like the dried flower crown she had worn at their Joining ceremony. First and foremost, however, was a foot long braided length of hair so coppery red that it could have been mistaken for fine metal strands in the light of the flame. Asher had cut it himself before they had burned her body, clenching it in his fist as he wept and swore revenge on the one who had taken her from him.
Now, he reached out and touched the hair gently, bowing his head where he sat at the edge of the bed.
"I'm sorry, Wren. I'm sorry I failed you," he murmured sadly. "I'll make it right, I swear. I'll make it right for you and the baby. Forgive me."
Asher kicked his boots off and glanced grumpily at his blood-stained gear, nudging it towards the stand meant to hold it all and promising himself he clean and polish everything tomorrow after he'd had some sleep.
Rummaging around, he tidied up in a methodical sort of way that clearly meant he was deep in thought, working more on autopilot, occasionally shuffling awkwardly around the dogs when they ended up in his way. The Swordmaster picked up a length of leather decorated with a few beads and the large canine tooth of some carnivore, slipping it over his head so that it rested over his heart. His fang pendant wasn't something he wore into battle, but it was common for Thunderfang members, especially fighters, to wear some kind of fang.
When Verissa finally got up and sat down on the bedroll, Asher watched the dogs position themselves around her. He bent over the stove, closing the shutters to douse the flame until only a dull red glow played across his muscular body. If they were lucky, the smoldering coals would keep the tent warm until morning. Straightening up, he saw that Verissa had turned her back to him and was not surprised. His footsteps moved closer until he was standing over her and then leaning down. The links of her long chain jingled as he attached it to the post, but there was enough slack that his movements didn't actually pull at her arms.
And then...he went to bed, the partition flap closing behind him as he retreated to the other side of the tent. Verissa would be able to hear the sounds of him kicking his trousers off and sitting down on the heap of furs, the wooden bedframe creaking slightly as he crawled towards a wooden trunk at the end.
On top of this trunk was a small beeswax candle burning smokelessly, the wax captured by the small bowl in which it sat. Around it were arranged the desperately few items off Wren's that Asher had left in the world. Most were simple things like the dried flower crown she had worn at their Joining ceremony. First and foremost, however, was a foot long braided length of hair so coppery red that it could have been mistaken for fine metal strands in the light of the flame. Asher had cut it himself before they had burned her body, clenching it in his fist as he wept and swore revenge on the one who had taken her from him.
Now, he reached out and touched the hair gently, bowing his head where he sat at the edge of the bed.
"I'm sorry, Wren. I'm sorry I failed you," he murmured sadly. "I'll make it right, I swear. I'll make it right for you and the baby. Forgive me."
