kestrelofthenorth:

Arin didn’t care that the blows his sword hammered against the man’s metal body were useless, that there was no art to this, that nothing would pierce the armor, that a few smashed buckles where the general’s armor joined was no victory. He could see too little of the man’s flesh, couldn’t reach it, and he desperately wanted to make him bleed. If he couldn’t carve into the general, Arin would bludgeon him. He’d beat until something broke.

(…)

 "You could speak with him.”
Risha snorted. “You mean forgive. Forgiveness is so…squishy. Like all this mud.”
Kestrel thought of her father’s fire-lit face on the Lerralen beach.
“It drags you down,” Risha said. “You know this.” 
She had an uneasy feeling of not knowing what Risha would say next, but already not wanting to hear it.
“You, who seek your own father’s death.”

FORGIVENESS, can you imagine? ⟡ part i