He takes a long time to answer. Too long, perhaps.

Fell doesn’t immediately understand who Kohelet means when she says a black mare with a silver mane. His first thought is Naydra, and his first reaction is to recoil. It doesn’t surprise him to know that she’s spawned a little demon of her own — his ivory-haired sister is entirely too cunning not to utilize that particular weapon. Still, he is too confused to feel much of anything except a ghostly slap across the face, the memories of his sister’s torment invoking physical discomfort while he tries to puzzle out what role she plays in the feud with Rafe.

It isn’t until Kohelet cuts herself off in the middle of the word force that Fell is forced to reassess her earlier words. It hits him that she must be talking about Rafe’s Viveka, and he feels stupid and slow for not realizing right away. He shakes his head, but it’s not an answer; his brows are furrowed, and his eyes are distant as he recalls their… interaction.

There is no excuse, no justification for the assault; there were no circumstances lined up so perfect and unfortunate as to lead Fell down this path and, at the same time, absolve him of accountability. He had forced Viveka, and he had hardly spared a second thought for her except to attempt to collect her again when it was over; and hardly a third thought after that except to come for his son.

Gathering Reese had been an impulsive, greedy act, the motive of which was pure selfishness. Fell was entitled to his children. He hadn’t felt entitled to Viveka when he had assaulted her; he hadn’t felt much of anything at all except rage. She had been an outlet, someone in the wrong place at the wrong time, her presence made worse by the fact that she looked just like his childhood tormentor. That hadn’t set him off, but it had certainly not helped.

He hadn’t felt any more guilt at the time than his usual insufferable amount. Even now, he only begins to realize that maybe he should feel guilty, by the way that Kohelet looks guilty. He cannot fathom why the painted mare would feel guilty for something he had done; that was Fell’s job, to do the bad things and then feel bad about them, all the time.

This must be a particularly bad thing, for the guilt to have spread to his queen.

He is suddenly terrified. Fell has never been under the assumption that his savagery was by any means acceptable, but he hasn’t bothered trying to change things because… well, what else was there? Without violence, he has nothing. Without violence, he is a pathetic, defective little colt, ignored by his mother, mocked by his sister, laughed at by the other foals of Paradise. No one has time for him; no one has warmth for him; no one has the patience to play with a boy who takes roughly twenty minutes and two thousand calories to act out a sentence.

Defensively, desperately, Fell clamps down on this part of himself and refuses to let go. There is no point. Even if he were to miraculously untangle himself from the hurt and loneliness that has taken root and grown into him like a parasitic vine in the next thirty seconds and vow to turn his life around, he can’t lie to Kohelet. He can’t undo any of it, no matter how guilty he decides he must feel.

And he does feel guilty, that heavy, suffocating guilt like wet snow. It settles on him slowly, cold and damp and silent. His ears ring. It has little to do with Viveka in particular; her life is worth no more to him than the countless others he’s harmed, which is to say, she is a snowflake in this avalanche, and Fell is suffocating.

He can see that Kohelet is dreading his answer. It’s already been too long. Will she prompt him if he simply stays silent? She must know by now. If he had never touched Viveka the answer would have been easy, and she would have seen in his face that he hadn’t, because Fell was unaccustomed to lying on purpose. There isn’t much he can do about lying by omission, but deliberately misleading is not his forte. It’s hard enough just getting the correct message across that Fell cannot fathom attempting to get it wrong on purpose.

In the end, he does nod. He is sure it’s a useless gesture by now, but he owes her that much. He forces himself to look her in the eyes, but he does not wish to insult her with a look of pleading remorse, so he does his best to smooth the conflict and fear from his face.

And he waits, not daring to think what she might do.

FELL

stallion. 16hh. black. marwari x. Rougaru x visurix.