The first thing that Kre noticed was that there was quite a lot of blood. It had nearly soaked through the linen already, and a large pool had formed off to one side where the passage sloped down into the wall.
The other thing Kre noticed was all the other… stuff. Stuff that, like blood, is supposed to stay inside the body. Unlike blood though, it takes quite a lot of effort to get all that other stuff to spill out like that.
Kre looked back down at his hands and tried to match up what he saw in front of him with the drying blood stains on his hands and arms. Thankfully, Virryn had gotten most of the other… stuff off of his arms, so there was none of that to distress him.
“Did I?” he asked, gesturing weakly at the scene before him. He had no recollection of what had gone down.
“Aye,” Gnore said. He seemed as if to say more but thought better of it with a shake of his head.
Kersath had no such filter. “You recall nothing?”
Kre shook his head, “No. The last thing I recall was you throwing something towards us.” A sudden pain started in his head. He raised a hand to press it to his temple and ease the headache, but he recalled just how messy his hand was, so he let it slowly drop back to his side.
“What did you throw?” he asked, looking back at Kersath.
“Just a small rock,” the Ylveryan admitted. “It is likely mixed in with all of the other rocks scattered about now. The intent was simply to stun, allowing us to rush in, but…” he trailed off, indicating the scene with a tilt of his head.
Kre knelt down near the body and slowly ran his fingers along the rocks strewn there. He half-hoped that touching the one that kicked off the whole mess might jog a memory or two.
Either he did not find the right rock, or his hopes were in vain as, even if he had touched the right stone, it had no mystic properties to enhance recall.
‘Was this you?’ Kre thought to that other little voice in his head. ‘Did you… we… do this?’
There was no answer. Kersath and Gnore, ever comforting, gave him all the time in silence he seemed to need. He had no idea how long he knelt there, waiting for a response that never came.
“I hated him,” Kre said softly. “I never knew him, but I know I hated him.” He wanted to say more about why. About what the man did and said that compelled such hatred. He said nothing though, as he felt it wildly inappropriate given the fact that the man was lying dead there beside him.
“Hate, such power in one word,” Gnore rumbled. His words were clearer now as he spoke softly and carefully. Kre had heard him speak this way one other time, when the Dweorvkin had assembled at camp one morning for a prayer vigil. He had never known the Dweorvkin to be so religious, but it seemed they were. Gnore led the event, and he used what Ras called his priestly voice.
That was the voice he was using now. He was being the comforting religious figure without giving the sermon that was neither needed, nor wanted at this time.