Running. Hawke ran and ran as far from that shack of agony, as far from that bitch, as his swift paws would carry him. Free at last, heart racing from the rush of his escape, he could feel the tingle of raw magic within himself where he hadn't before, as if half his mind had been closed off for years. He'd be lying to claim that it didn't feel amazing, no walls to hold him back.<span class="fixed-color" style="color:#b30000"><i>No walls to keep me from doing . . . stupid things. </i></span>He would have to rebuild them later, when this inconvenient trace had been dispelled. Somehow.<span class="fixed-color" style="color:#b30000"><i>But do I really have to . . . ? </i></span>But even as he asked himself that, he recalled the smattering of scars along his back and shoulders.<span class="fixed-color" style="color:#b30000"> F<i><span class="fixed-color" style="color:rgb(179, 0, 0)">lying glass, so much fury. </span></i></span>The paper thin lines manifested even in this form as the faintest of silvery flecks scattered throughout the golden pelt in equivalent locations.<br/><br/><span class="fixed-color" style="color:#5900b3"><i>Believe me, my mother's safety is as much a concern to me as your own safety is. </i></span><i><span class="fixed-color" style="color:rgb(179, 0, 0)">No wonder you're a murderer, raised by a harpy like that. I'm surprised you didn't usurp the Dark Lord. Or off yourself . . . </span></i>Hawke shrugged mentally.<span class="fixed-color" style="color:#b30000"><i>Would have made my life a little easier . . . or is that option still on the table?</i></span>Of course he couldn't get so lucky. With the Death Eater's words in his head and the bloodied ring clenched safely between his fangs, suspicion rose within him. What could Albiorix possibly know about the attack? Or was he simply luring Hawke into yet another frying pan? Of course it would be advantageous for one of them to kill the other, rid themselves of this link for good. He wasn't in any state for a duel. And besides, he'd end up bringing Analiese down on both of them.<i><span class="fixed-color" style="color:rgb(179, 0, 0)">Surely he can't want that either . . . </span></i>Hawke didn't care if the other heard his musings, too exhausted both physically and mentally.<br/><br/>In fact, as the adrenaline abated from his blood, the tell-tale ache of the torture curse began to seep its way into muscle and bone. Hours . . . hours of hell. And for what?<span class="fixed-color" style="color:#b30000"><i> Just a stupid ring. </i></span>His pace slowed as the pain made itself known, greater than any he'd ever felt before, even when agonized by the pack of Death Eaters the night his mother had given her life for him. Still, Hawke padded along through the trees toward the smell of water. And his nose picking up something else . . . was that blood? Alarmed, he came to a stop, black and white vision taking in the dark stains dripping down his right foreleg.<i><span class="fixed-color" style="color:#b30000">Dammit.</span></i>Now aware of the injury, Hawke hissed from the burn of the slash, tearing through muscle and skin, but not deep enough to maim. He couldn't heal it himself, not with the trace . . . and not with his magic so unstable.<br/><br/><i><span class="fixed-color" style="color:#5900b3">The only thing you'll be getting from me is the information . . .</span> <span class="fixed-color" style="color:#b30000">We'll see about that, </span></i>Hawke replied, continuing onward towards a stupidly dangerous circumstantial ally. But he had little choice in this moment as he finally stepped from the trees and into a clearing, the pond stretched out before him. An aerial view flashed within his mind, unbidden, and the lion peered upwards.<i><span class="fixed-color" style="color:#b30000">Is he . . . flying?</span></i>