[ aaaand down he goes. one moment, he's being supported by a giant, lugging brute, and the next, he's flopped into the mud onto his back, his entire body aflame with pain and splattered with cast-off blood. but the sear of the flames simply reminds him that he's still so very alive. the blue sky stretching above is nothing less than mockery, a reminder that he's not the one who should be able to look up at it with living eyes.

the paladin's anger, in contrast, is a welcome respite. his gaze is lazy, belying the pain the rest of his body happens to be in, and if he lays still enough, perhaps he can imagine the pain isn't there at all. what's far more important is this display of righteous indignation of a man pushed too far, too soon, perhaps far too easily preyed on by malevolent whispers.

but that's the point. he waits for the paladin to finish his words, before he lays back against the ground with another soft hum. ]

Of course, you're absolutely right. My words are but always a by-product of my poor personality and shoddy intentions. Nobody else has ever seen through me so clearly. Congratulations, I suppose.

[ but beneath the mockery, there's a shift, a slight waver of expressions as eseld's eyes flicker towards torth, and then-- away. towards the camp, perhaps, hazy. ]

But I wasn't lying when I said I was concerned for your feelings. You worry too much, Torth, my love. But you ought to allow those worries to take you to where you're needed the most. What sort of regret would you have if by dallying with myself upon your back, trudging through weight and mud, you've consigned Fable to dying alone? I'm not willing to take that blame.

[ in the end, it was a selfish line of questioning, but perhaps not the kind of selfishness that torth expected. this, he doesn't indicate or voice. ]

Be honest. You ought to go and find him. That's where you want to be, right?