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“Speak to you,” Saeryn whispered in reply. She cleared her throat and spoke in a level voice. “What is there to say? Why are you suddenly interested now?” His many questions resounded in her head, along with the thought ‘you should have been there so you wouldn’t have had to ask’. She turned abruptly and walked away. She felt the rigidness in her body, the heat in her mind, and she knew that somehow she was being unreasonable. But then, at the same time, she wasn’t.
Degas followed her, pleading, “Saeryn, please.”
And finally she turned, a torrent of words pouring forth. “Why weren’t you there when we needed you? At least you could have stood where you belonged, for once, instead of running away from a difficult situation! Running after love, were you? Well, I hope you found it. Fenrir and I paid your price for you. I guess now you intend to waltz back in and claim the place, being the only heir left! I hope they burn you like they did Fenrir - though there’s no hall left to do it proper in!” She began crying now - angry, vicious tears that had been impossible to cry ever since the attack.
“I went back because I was tired of being a coward. Tired of running away. I didn’t belong anywhere, except home! That’s why! At least it was home!” She wanted to say more, but she couldn’t. Sobs choked her. Degas tried to approach and comfort her, but Saeryn recoiled and struck out at him. She slapped him.
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