From above, the wicked shall receive their just reward
Rarely, very rarely did Kronk get angry. When his home was attacked, that made him angry, when there was no one to defend it, that made him furious. He had tried to stop the horses that had come, but they couldn’t be stopped, not by the sad handful of defenders that were left to protect the Gates.
Kronk had watched his home burn and it left a deep, wrenching hole in his heart. For he knew that he had failed, that they all had failed. Failure did not sit well with him.
As soon as he could, as soon as he had coughed the smoke and ash clear from his lungs, Kronk had taken to the field. He needed to make his home strong, with good, worthy people who would see the beauty it had to offer. They didn’t need to be warriors, the Gates needed all kinds, but they needed to be loyal, trustworthy individuals.
He had seen what happened when a few snakes were allowed to enter the garden.
Kronk was unused to this seething, boiling of his soul. He was born of happy times, of good friends and laughs. He was not used to rage, or the anger that prodded him to charge to the Chamber and tear it down tree by tree, root by root. So, when he saw gray girl, he was glad to feel the anger disappear. She looked so sad. Kronk’s heart lurched, and he felt like a fool for being angry. Rage solved nothing. Hard work and compassion, that’s what the world needed. He had no compassion to spare for the Chamber’s horses, but for this girl he had it in spades. A little hesitantly, Kronk approached. He coughed when he was a respectable distance away.
“Pardon me? Miss?” Kronk cleared his throat again and hoped he wasn’t intruding.
“I couldn't help but notice — are you crying? Is there anything I can do?” Perhaps he was just being a pest, but his conscious wouldn’t allow him to walk by her and not stop.
Photograph by Vivacqua