Skaris
Skaris left at midnight. He took his dagger from the sleeping Cath and crossed the sealed entrance of the cave, thriving in the moonlight that gently caressed his bloodless cheeks with its silver light.
The air was fresh now, after the two days of rain and fog, the late spring filling the night with the aroma of wild nocturnal flowers and the song of chirping insects.
It was the perfect night for a walk in the woods, but even the peaceful scenery did not soothe his restless mind. The blinding rage had somehow subsided and in its place, pure determination ruled his every action. He had started it – the whole f*****g war was his fault, Cath was right – and it was about damn time he admitted it and found a way to fix it. He didn’t matter anymore. The carefree Skaris Sefth who was on
