K'ile Tia scowled at the wall of the tent as though it were to blame for his poor health. His eyes were dark and only barely open, just the act of staring painful. Everyone had been looking at him like he'd done something stupid, but they didn't know. What was he supposed to do? The dead should not walk. Especially not him. As if seeing K'iara walking around like the man reborn in female form wasn't bad enough, K'piru's wicked daughter was pulling him out of the earth and marching him back to the desert.
He should have known he would lose that fight. Everyone always did. K'thalen had never been defeated as Nunh, so why would things be any different now that he was undead? It had taken bad luck, betrayal, and a world on fire for the man to fall last time. Of course he wouldn't go down to anything K'ile had, even if K'ile had decided to go all out. K'yohko would've crumbled like a bullied child, but K'thalen hadn't even flinched.
So it meant nothing. As long as the dead walked elsewhere, it meant nothing. K'ile would get his strength back and defeat K'yohko. And in the meantime...
It seemed the Elders wished him to suffer K'zhumi's scowls. The sound of the tent shifting in the evening wind hurt his head, and K'ile pushed on his eyes as though he could supress the ache. It felt like his skull itself had been bruised. He didn't like it. It bugged him. He growled and pressed on his eyes and didn't want to be here. He had nothing against K'zhumi but he didn't want to be here. And she didn't want him here either.
"I'm going." He snapped, slamming a fist down in the dirt and lifting himself up. The motion hurt. He felt dizzy. His ears brushed the wall of the tent and for some reason that sensation throbbed inside of his head. "For a bit. Just. To get air."
He should have known he would lose that fight. Everyone always did. K'thalen had never been defeated as Nunh, so why would things be any different now that he was undead? It had taken bad luck, betrayal, and a world on fire for the man to fall last time. Of course he wouldn't go down to anything K'ile had, even if K'ile had decided to go all out. K'yohko would've crumbled like a bullied child, but K'thalen hadn't even flinched.
So it meant nothing. As long as the dead walked elsewhere, it meant nothing. K'ile would get his strength back and defeat K'yohko. And in the meantime...
It seemed the Elders wished him to suffer K'zhumi's scowls. The sound of the tent shifting in the evening wind hurt his head, and K'ile pushed on his eyes as though he could supress the ache. It felt like his skull itself had been bruised. He didn't like it. It bugged him. He growled and pressed on his eyes and didn't want to be here. He had nothing against K'zhumi but he didn't want to be here. And she didn't want him here either.
"I'm going." He snapped, slamming a fist down in the dirt and lifting himself up. The motion hurt. He felt dizzy. His ears brushed the wall of the tent and for some reason that sensation throbbed inside of his head. "For a bit. Just. To get air."
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