[Kratos doesn't know what he's expecting; perhaps nothing. But the command and the twisted fury in it makes him flinch nonetheless. He is -- grateful he did not bend knee, for it would have taken longer for him to rise if he had; as it is he rises as quietly as he can. He doesn't know if -- verbal acknowledgement will help; so he says nothing.
[He wishes he could have done anything else; but he hadn't, and couldn't, and Yuan had asked for him to speak of anything which might -- which might --
[Kratos swallows hard and leaves, as small as he can be. He'd washed skin where he could, at the kitchen; and he'd changed in the tent, before Yuan arrived. They'd had things handled in the mess, when he left. But he ... isn't sure where else to go, now, after the attack is surely going to fall into words of valour and bitterness. Even for being property, Kratos holds no illusions that some will be too hot with battle and rage to ignore his presence.
[So: he goes back to the kitchen, to sequester himself where he might be safest -- in the back of the tent where it opens to the river, where he can wash and scrub and do those chores no one wants to, and he is likely to be left alone.
[... Yuan, he realises only once he's settled, had not given him a time to return. And then, on the heels of the thought and gazing into the water: would it solve anything if I --?
[It isn't a thought to die; only that the river could take him ... somewhere else. Yuan could claim he was killed, claim whatever he liked to salve pride and hurt and ... and it would solve nothing. His life belongs to Yuan; Kratos promised it so, not half an hour before. And the river flows southward, besides. It would not carry him to Bia, or the remaining Tethe'allan forces.
[So, he scrubs what pots and pans are had; and when there are none left and the night is full and he has nowhere else to go, Kratos makes himself a bed in the corner, of rags and washclothes, and curls up to shiver through the night.]
no subject
[He wishes he could have done anything else; but he hadn't, and couldn't, and Yuan had asked for him to speak of anything which might -- which might --
[Kratos swallows hard and leaves, as small as he can be. He'd washed skin where he could, at the kitchen; and he'd changed in the tent, before Yuan arrived. They'd had things handled in the mess, when he left. But he ... isn't sure where else to go, now, after the attack is surely going to fall into words of valour and bitterness. Even for being property, Kratos holds no illusions that some will be too hot with battle and rage to ignore his presence.
[So: he goes back to the kitchen, to sequester himself where he might be safest -- in the back of the tent where it opens to the river, where he can wash and scrub and do those chores no one wants to, and he is likely to be left alone.
[... Yuan, he realises only once he's settled, had not given him a time to return. And then, on the heels of the thought and gazing into the water: would it solve anything if I --?
[It isn't a thought to die; only that the river could take him ... somewhere else. Yuan could claim he was killed, claim whatever he liked to salve pride and hurt and ... and it would solve nothing. His life belongs to Yuan; Kratos promised it so, not half an hour before. And the river flows southward, besides. It would not carry him to Bia, or the remaining Tethe'allan forces.
[So, he scrubs what pots and pans are had; and when there are none left and the night is full and he has nowhere else to go, Kratos makes himself a bed in the corner, of rags and washclothes, and curls up to shiver through the night.]