Deadly coldness swept through Aicanassë at Vesta’s words. She reminded him of his failure, mocked him for his inability, then dared to cite his powerlessness to do anything.<i>As if she could do better.</i>He rose from where he crouched, both hands clenched into fists at his sides, shuddering with barely controlled rage. Heat flushed out the coldness of his body, a fire lit within him that fueled him and his thoughts to violent ends. His embrace she claimed was a lie. His refusal to abandon his home was somehow madness. But her final remark, as betraying and shameful as it was to request the aid of another sovereign, was not the straw to break the camel’s back.<br/><br/>No…it was the laughter. Vesta was…laughing at him.<br/><br/>It seemed so faint, like the mockery cowards spoke under their breath in hushed tones, smiling cruelly at other’s misfortunes. She dared to do it, to him. He turned, uncaring that some weakness seemed to be over Vesta. He sprang with deadly speed, like a snake in the grass, at her. His hands caught her by the fabric of her shoulders and with a mighty heave, shoved her back hard into the base of the trunk. There was no sympathy as her head cracked against the bark. His own fist followed but did not strike her, hitting the trunk very near to her head with a loud crack. Pain shot up through his arm but he did not care, indeed mad with fury.<br/><br/>“I curse then those very same Gods whom we do not name then! I curse the pathetic little wife with whom they have attached me with! I curse her and the hours she spent reading and buried in her witchcraft! I curse her father for breeding such a stupid little child!” Aica roared at her, grabbing her by the hair and raising his arm as if to strike her hard across her face for her mocking words. For a moment he hung there, as still as a statue, before his arm fell and he shoved her head aside. “I should have left you in that sack to die of suffocation. But I did not. My protection is a lie to you then? Then go. Go to your father and ask for his armies.” Aica sneered at her, turning on his heel and going to fetch the poacher’s rope, as well as pocketing the two knives he had.<br/><br/>“Leave me, I don’t care. I am going to provide, as I always have, and if I shall return and find this campsite empty, I will know I no longer have a wife. Go, go to your father and bring his armies. I shall crush them all the same when I’ve retaken my throne, alone. I will add their bones to this forest and not think twice about the traitorous bitch they latched to me.” Taking the rope, Aica didn’t even glance at her as he stalked off into the forest, heading towards the river. He was furious and made no further sound, though his mind was a panoply of hatred, images of revenge upon all who wronged him…and regret. Yes, regret was there, a constancy in his mind, a regret that he had to act this way with the woman who should have been his companion, in this life and the next. Aica wished it did not have to be this way.<br/><br/>It took him many hours. Morning turned to noon and noon began to dwindle into evening, which came earlier and earlier as summer faded and autumn passed. His poacher’s knot failed, twice, watching from concealed bushes as two rabbits came into the trap…and escaped without springing it. The third, Aica emerged and threw his knife instead, missing. The fourth he was more lucky, catching it in the midsection and springing upon it to wrench it’s neck, killing it. Only his determination brought on by the fury of his argument with Vesta allowed him to act with such deadly ruthlessness and efficiency. But now they had a meal, the best since their last catch a week ago. A nice change of pace from roots and berries.<br/><br/>He retuned to the campsite, holding the creature by its ears, dropping it by the fire where he could skin it later. But first…<i>Vesta.</i>She had not gone. Why, he did not know, still not grasping the beautiful woman he had, not of appearance but of mind and heart. Yet it made him elated in heart to see her here. And he did appreciate her remaining, marching right towards her and grabbing her, around the neck, pulling her close to him. His embrace was a lie she said? Well he still did it, one arm holding her tight. It was as close as an apology he would give. His fingers then explored the back of her head where he had thrown her against the tree, feeling for her injury, to see if she was bleeding. She was not. He kissed her forehead next, silent as ever, stroking her hair momentarily but never making eye contact with her. Then he turned away from her, going back to his catch with his knives, moving to skin it.<br/><br/>“We need more deadwood.” Aica finally said, as he began to open up the dead rabbit’s fur. He could make a spit now, above the fire, where they could roast the flesh. It was not enough though, not even for one person. And they had no plates, utensils, or seasoning. Like barbarians, they would eat it with their fingers, juices and fat staining them. But this was their life…until Aica finally would listen to Vesta’s reason and move on.