Harmonia needn’t worry - Belgarath is not the protecting type. He's far more likely to be ravager - whether or not that's worse in her eyes, Bel doesn't care. He’s a jerk and an asshole and while he finds the little palomino’s back end rather appealing, he imagines there’s more to her than meets the eye. There is no other reason for her to be here amongst the discontent. Bel is big, not stupid, and he isn’t about to invoke someone’s wrath unless he is sure he can beat them.
She is correct, however. Dying isn’t the worst thing. There are things that go bump in the night; things that can cause unrelenting pain with a single tough. Things that have no name. Dying ends it all, whereas enduring breaks a being, little by little, chunk by chunk. “Yeah, but I’m not about to see if you’re right.” He looks down at Harmonia, gobbling up her skin with a hungry, calloused gaze. “Could always try and go around” Tap it from the back. His shoulders roll in a half-hearted shrug. “We’re not exactly needed to do His Majesty’s bidding around here.” Belgarath snorts derisively. There’s disappointment around every corner these days. He turns away from the mountains, and after a few steps, calls to the little golden mare. “Are you coming, Harmonia?”
belgarath
