Bolden snorted like a horse but his pitch remained unstintingly quiet, almost identical to his own father's tone of deepest hurt. His large hands turned the rag over and over, smearing the bloody cloth around his hands just to be doing something with them.
"Why? Is not saying going to make it less true? Not everything you touch turns to gold...Vanator. No wonder you've always acted like you hated me. I'm your shame on two legs. Titles? Are you kidding me? Wait-- is it that you don't want to tell Kavala I'm your disgusting little secret? Is that what you mean?"
The young man nodded as if to himself, still refusing to look at his newly discovered father. Bold's voice got quieter with each statement and so completely out of character for him, it was like hearing someone else speak.
"I understand. I won't smear your impeccable, honorable name with your family. I'll be sure to keep it to myself so the 'Heir of the Ankal' 's name won't be tarnished and Zivatar need never know. I most definitely won't go spreading it around."
The shattered young Drykas sat with his shoulders slumped and his head down, still unmoving. His hand opened and dropped the bloody rag to floor, staring at it with incurious eyes. The crimson stain looked almost like the shape of a feather. Like his tattoo with Pal. His aching and bruised mind recoiled from even the thought of seeing or talking to anyone right now.
"Why? Is not saying going to make it less true? Not everything you touch turns to gold...Vanator. No wonder you've always acted like you hated me. I'm your shame on two legs. Titles? Are you kidding me? Wait-- is it that you don't want to tell Kavala I'm your disgusting little secret? Is that what you mean?"
The young man nodded as if to himself, still refusing to look at his newly discovered father. Bold's voice got quieter with each statement and so completely out of character for him, it was like hearing someone else speak.
"I understand. I won't smear your impeccable, honorable name with your family. I'll be sure to keep it to myself so the 'Heir of the Ankal' 's name won't be tarnished and Zivatar need never know. I most definitely won't go spreading it around."
The shattered young Drykas sat with his shoulders slumped and his head down, still unmoving. His hand opened and dropped the bloody rag to floor, staring at it with incurious eyes. The crimson stain looked almost like the shape of a feather. Like his tattoo with Pal. His aching and bruised mind recoiled from even the thought of seeing or talking to anyone right now.
