No Guilt, No Remorse

It had been a day or two since Kanta’s encounter with the Sin’dorei Paladin, and the woman had put up a hell of a fighter.

 

Bruises lined Kanta’s ribs from her attacks, and the side of his face showed of battle too. His right eye was bruised and blackened, causing a slight dull in that eye from the injury it had received. The woman was well trained, but Kanta was better.

 

He was returning to the Garrison at last, his time in Tanaan had been too long, and he even called for his mate to come back with him. Anarial was just as injured as he was, having had her own encounters that she had told him on their journey back to the main garrison of the Templars.

 

“You look worse than usual.” Anarial teased, nudging him with her shoulder as the two made way to the gates.

 

“You are one to talk, beloved.” He grunted out, his words slightly muttered over his bruised lip and face as he looked sidelong at her, a forced smile coming from his lips as he placed a hand on her back, rubbing the area between her shoulder and spine gently. “We are in one piece, however. And that is what matters.”

 

—

 

It was only a matter of hours before the news of Sage’s daughter reached the pair’s ears. Kanta had shared the story in private that it seemed far too coincidental of an issue that this had matched his last kill. In both description and timing.

 

The Marksman remained quiet for the evening, remaining with his wife in their portion of the main barracks. They had closed and locked the door to their quarters, not being heard from for the rest of the night, not even when the main bell to dinner was called.

 

Kanta held on Anarial’s hand, the two bandaged and touched up from their injuries as they laid in their bed. Kanta’s silver eyes staring at the door as though expecting people to come bursting through.

 

No. That would not happen. He would not be caught. That body was buried into the earth, amongst the other dozens of Horde that fell to both Anarial and Kanta’s hands. No tale to tell, no words of dead men that wished to come back to life. Kanta made sure of that with every corpse before he put them into the ground.

 

Kanta decided he would mourn the loss of the child that belonged to one of the Templars, but felt no guilt as his hand stroked over Anarial’s locks of purple hair,  eyes finally leaving the door and gazing down into her own shining, sterling eyes.

 

“We should return home to Moonglade soon, beloved. I do believe we need a break from this land.”

 

Anarial smiled for the first time in some hours, leaning up to kiss Kanta’s bruised and grizzly cheek. “I do miss the children, perhaps we should leave tomorrow?”

“Aye. We leave tomorrow then.”