Guts whips his head to Lashan, the sword gripped tightly in his hand.
"What the hell...?" he repeats. "What's that supposed to mean? What happened to him?"
The viscera and blood of the battlefield was something he was used to. This smelled of something entirely unnatural, something foreign and that shouldn't be. It disturbed him the same way seeing the dead rise would, while at the same time second-guessing if he'd just hallucinated the whole thing. A heated fight to the death was exactly the place where superstitions are born, and he liked to think of himself as being fairly grounded. Maybe he had nicked an artery and missed it in the scuffle.
The immediate shock of the death shakes off when he catches more noise on their periphery. No time to dwell on it. There might be more men for them to kill. He lowers his head, peering around Thistle to catch a glimpse of what was approaching them from Safflower's rear. The mare was pawing the ground restlessly, throwing her head with agitation.
no subject
"What the hell...?" he repeats. "What's that supposed to mean? What happened to him?"
The viscera and blood of the battlefield was something he was used to. This smelled of something entirely unnatural, something foreign and that shouldn't be. It disturbed him the same way seeing the dead rise would, while at the same time second-guessing if he'd just hallucinated the whole thing. A heated fight to the death was exactly the place where superstitions are born, and he liked to think of himself as being fairly grounded. Maybe he had nicked an artery and missed it in the scuffle.
The immediate shock of the death shakes off when he catches more noise on their periphery. No time to dwell on it. There might be more men for them to kill. He lowers his head, peering around Thistle to catch a glimpse of what was approaching them from Safflower's rear. The mare was pawing the ground restlessly, throwing her head with agitation.