we built this city on broken glass

Frost's own violet gaze continued to linger on those detailed, hand-drawn images on the pages of the book Raven rested on her lap. He had known all of those pictures once. As a boy he had been near fascinated by them, the way his mother had told those stories was somehow far more engaging then when they were told by any other. He remembered, when he was older, reading them in secret beneath the covers off his bed before prying up the floorboards to stash that very book before any of those Hunters could find him with it. His ability to read a secret kept between his mother and himself alone for so many years. It was those very tales of the Old Gods that had first inspired him to read to begin with. He enjoyed the chaos of those stories, the bloodshed and the heroics. The destruction and creation all at once. He had, once, enjoyed those evil gods as much as he had enjoyed those more noble spirits and yet, despite that godly status near each of them had been afflicted with human flaw all the same. Perhaps that was what was so appealing about those tales. They were hardly sugar-coated like the stories children were fed today. They told of blood and pain and sacrifice as much as they spoke of victory and joy and the spoils of war. There was a realness to them. Something raw and free of deluded fantasy of happy ever after. Perhaps he had always believed in that. In that reality. It had been his reality after all- for so very long.

His own thoughts were momentarily interrupted by Raven's own sudden query of Odin and his wolves, the stallion hardly surprised the woman might take intrigue in those very canines. Wolves mentioned in those ancient stories almost as often as horses- the other heroes of those tales and another reason he had favoured them. He was curious, in a sense, of Raven's curiosity. Frost so eternally in position of a respect of sorts for those whom respected literature in turn. The stallion relishing in books of any kind even if few knew such a thing off him. The man hardly choosing to advertise that fact. Raven's own interest agreeable to him and yet it was perhaps the only redeeming trait he had so far found in a woman he cared truly little for in any respect. The war horse near assured she was a lost cause. One Tetradore wasted his time on and yet such decisions were hardly his own. He would not waste his thoughts on them. Rather, he sought to answer that query all the same before commenting upon Odin and his quest for knowledge. A quest that had cost him one of his eyes. That very joke of sorts, a decidedly rare show of good nature, easily falling from his lips in regards to his own blinded eye. Those veritable shields that guarded that icy exterior so momentarily thawing with that utterance of humour and yet it hardly lasted more than that moment. Frost well aware of that woman's wariness off him all the same. Frost neither seeking to alleviate it nor encourage it in any sense. His features so returned to that frustratingly neutral mask. At least until Raven queried his own missing eye and whether or not it had been worth it. That second question alone seeming to prompt his intrigue far more then the first, that soft snort leaving him then and yet his lip quirked all the same- his shoulders shrugging. She already knew he could hardly see, what did it matter if she knew why? Besides- such a question as its worth was worth answering.

"I was about sixteen, nearly seventeen. The Hunter assigned as my rider had proven incapable of staying on me. I was assigned a new rider, a Persian man named Xerxes well known for his....authority over more difficult mounts. We clashed from the beginning. I had no desire to die for a war I didnt believe in and sought only escape, he had a mind to prove I could be controlled and to dispel the infamy I had built up as un-riddable. We were assigned to ride out to a scout camp, investigate and report back. Xerxes and I fought most of the way- that bastard stayed on though. Right until the very end. He dropped his guard on the gallop home, it was a fleeting second but I took it. I threw him. My mistake was doing it in front of the rest of the patrol and making a fool of him."

Frost paused slightly, his features frowning as he further contemplated that story and yet there was no taint of regret to those smooth, cool words all the same. Each syllable offered with that confident assurance of all his words.

"I was locked away in my stable that night when he came back, a set of brass knuckles fitted over his right hand. I assume you can put together what happened next. The stall was small, I couldn't reach him but he could reach me. The damage to my face, head, muzzle and cheek healed- my eye was too badly damaged even for Were-healing. I had surgery the next day when the groom found me but they couldn't save my vision. They did nothing to Xerxes."

Another snort found its way from him then, his arms folded across his chest as if that part of the story hardly perturbed him even if, after all these years, a part of him still....hurt over it. That veritable crack in that facade hurriedly covered as he continued.

"I don't regret it though. I make a point to regret very little in my life. Regret is a useless waste of emotion. I proved that day, when I threw him, that he was not the god he believed himself to be. God's don't bleed after all. I paid for his blood with mine- but no, I regret nothing."

There was little save for conviction in those very words. Frost glancing briefly towards the woman then in anticipation of any further questions of that tale before his attention returned to that book she asked after. The stallion rising from that log to move toward her own, easing himself down beside her to point to that part of the picture she required. Frost making an....effort in that moment to extend his patience for her in a fashion he so rarely did. If Tetradore desired that family then he was content enough to make something of an effort for the other man- if only because Tetradore reminded him.....of himself in a way. In what they had both survived. That near sudden shove was unanticipated, Frost's own affinity rising to his defence in that moment to cut Raven's own power short, his hand grasping that log to stop him sliding any further as his gaze narrowed upon the wolf girl. What foolish game did she think she was playing? Was she attempting to provoke him? Was this some foolish set up or was she merely this lacking in control? Perhaps it hardly mattered. Frost easily rising from that seat then, respecting that request not to come any closer and yet his patience for the woman had reached its end for the day. He had made...something of an effort. One that would seemingly get no further now. Who else was she talking about? She?

He was aware of that touch of her power fluttering across his skin and around his neck. His own affinity ready to dispel it and yet for now he merely left it, his violet gaze cutting towards her own as she seemed to struggle within herself. Her mind a veritable cacophony of distress. Frost near...curious as to just which course of action she would decide upon in that singular moment. The man hardly surprised to find that touch off her power fade away as she grappled for control with this...feral side she spoke off. As if it were a separate entity. A separate being. That sharp edge to his voice seeming to prompt a whimper of sorts from the woman. One that only furthered that scowl on his own features. Frost turning back to her then.

"So either do what she tells you too or tell her to be quiet. Do you fear that side of yourself so much that you allow it this control? You are a slave to your feral side. You are a prisoner to it because you allow it."

His voice was hardly raised and yet these was little softness to those words. Each of them assured. His gaze held firmly upon her as he shifted forward again, respecting that space and yet closing that distance between them ever so slightly.

"Why do you fear your feral side? I doubt it has ever brought you any harm, has it? No. You were made to fear it, you were raised to fear it because others knew the power you held and feared your command of it. So they taught you to believe it was you who was wrong and it was you who was broken. What if you were never broken? What if you were created just the way you were supposed to be and it was they, those who raised you, who were wrong? Why do you question nothing? Why do you believe the words of the people whom treated you like they did? You fear my ulterior motives but you don't question those of the people who locked you away? Either you're a damned fool or they did a better job then even I realised of convincing you of your own worthlessness. Take control- Raven. Prove them all wrong because the only thing you've done so far is make them right."

If she was unwilling to help herself then no one else would. Frost simply incapable of ignoring that potential the woman held even if she so blatantly refused to see it and remained determined to continue to cower behind a fear off her own power. Frost stepping further away from her once more before gesturing to that book in her hand and raising that bag over his shoulder. That flinch his voice had caused hardly missed and yet he had said his piece. For as long as she feared that feral side she would remain unable to control it. It was hardly her fault and yet....she could act upon it. If she tried. The women's final question seeing him pause once more. How much tetradore had told his pack of that deal between them remained to be seen. The stallion unwilling to plunge that opposing pack into disarray with an announcement left to Tetradore himself, his gaze lingering upon the woman beneath that snowy hair. Those final words as coolly offered as always even if that answer was not truly given...not in full.

"I dislike you, but that does not mean you are not worth trying to save, even if not for my own purposes. I can help you with your feral issue, when your ready, come and find me. For now I think we are done."

FrosT