"But the dream, the echo, slips from him as quickly as he had found it and as consciousness comes to him (a slap and not the gentle waves of oceanic tides), it dissolves entirely. His muscles relax as the cold claims him again, as the numbness sets in, and when his grey eyes open, there’s nothing but the faint after burn of a dream often trod and never remembered." --Brigade, written by Laura
Agetta feels it too, that flash of rage when she knows he is close. She does not expect him to approach and so her gaze remains on the sleeping twins. They help cool the fire, the sweet release of her hatred and the promise of a fight provides no comfort right now. When he does approach, as a panther, she is grateful that he does not come closer. Does not touch her. She’s not sure if she could bear it without being drunk on despair and there is something reassuring in the distance as well as his sardonic smile and dark humour that arrives before long.
A bizarre sense of normality in this strange path she is walking.
His comment on her appearance only earns a nod - of course she knew this and sees no point in arguing the fact - but the roughness of his voice catches her attention. “You sound worse.” Her own words are quiet, with only a hint of bite and humour. How annoying (and surprising) the mingling of curiosity and concern that touch at the back of her mind - wondering what he had been through this winter.
Wondering too how she had gotten to know him enough to recognize the difference in his voice.
His next words have her shaking her head and she almost laughs at the absurdity of the idea. Agetta’s children were always her weakness - and she cannot fathom the idea of killing one. “Her eyes are green, at least. Like our first son’s.” She chokes on the word ‘first’, eyes closing against the wave of sadness that hits her. Part of her still so unwilling to believe this is reality. She does not remember much about Abner (he is tied up too much in the memories of Anaxarete and so their history is wiped clean from her mind) but as one of her children, it is easy to assume she had failed him at one time or another.
Finally, she turns to look at him - dark eyes meeting yellow - regret driving her to do something else she could not have ever fathomed. She apologizes to Atrox and there is a sincerity to her words that makes them thick and difficult to get out. The fact that the foals slumber on gives her the freedom to be more honest than she would be if they could hear her. “I’m not sorry they exist, but for whatever it's worth I’m sorry about what happened. I wanted to die that day. That’s why I was there. I didn’t mean for…” but she trails off with a shake of her head. She’s been actively repressing the memories of that day but she reminds herself it was something they did together. It was not entirely her fault, even if it mostly was. She was the one that showed up, after all.
Why does she apologize? Why does she keep assuming there's still an echo of a soul inside of him? But whatever he thinks, however little it might have meant to him, she feels a little better for at least speaking the words.
Before he can bite out a sarcastic response, curiosity clears some of the fog of sadness around her head, easing the tension in her expression and body as she asks simply “Would you have killed me if I had asked?” She knows now that it might not have worked, but she wonders all the same. If she had just used her words, just finally been honest with someone in her life. Even if it was him and not for the best of reasons.
