Sythius Sil’nathin, once again a man, stood up and wiped the
blood from his face. This done, he turned his attention to the girl. Little
Breanne, still with the leather cord about her neck, stared up at the giant
with wide, soft brown eyes.
She bore no fear.
She reached out and touched Sythius’s leg, ran her fingers
along the fur on his pants. A soft little smile rose on her lips, and when
Sythius reached down and picked her up, she let him do it without a sound.
Sythius carried the tiny slip of a child as delicately as a goldsmith with a
priceless broach, and turned to Sithe as though he’d finally remembered that
she existed.
Breanne settled into the hulking miracle’s arms, and closed
her eyes.
“Sleep,” Sythius said, smiling. It crossed Sithe’s mind
that there was more to this unnatural affinity than there appeared to be. What child, no
matter how battered, would come so readily to a creature like this man? After
watching him eviscerate another human being, after watching him wipe blood from
his chin, how could she just ... sleep in his arms?
Sithe realized that that
was the least of her concerns at the moment.
“Why would you ... do that?” she asked. “I told you to
save her. I told you that I would
handle Abney. Why would you risk ... ?”
Part of Sithe reprimanded herself; why did that matter, either? This man could
transform into the beasts he wore as clothing, and she was babbling on about pride?
Sythius, for his part, seemed to take no issue with this. He
smiled. Sithe could still see blood on his teeth. The giant said, “Save her.”
He ruffled little Breanne’s hair.
Then he reached out and patted Sithe’s head.
“Save her,” he said again.
* * *
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