The Point Of Exile

° a reward

Maximilian's feet are heavy, not just from the fatigue tormenting her bones, but from the heavy burden laden on her shoulders. Each step further down an unnamed road to nowhere seems to draw to mind a new, disastrous possibility. Perhaps the possibilities haunt her features so visibly that her escort has even begun to worry, his stolen glances beginning to grate on her frayed nerves.

Tae's gaze slides in her direction once more. He closely observes her side profile, assessing the worry laden deep within her gaze - the same gaze that snaps to meet his out of nowhere. Her sharp granite eyes pierce his soul, staring him down as if she knows something of such importance that even he is blissfully unaware of such a fact.

He startles, holding her stare and offering a challenging raise of his brow. Her face contorts into a scalding glare at that, and she snaps her head forward once again.

Is she mad? He can't help but wonder. Of course she's mad, his conscience, as he would call it, retorts in response to his ignorant question. She was just nearly assaulted by a goliath of a man, after being abandoned by her brother and left to the mercy of a band of criminals. Who else to be mad at other than the one who currently holds her against her will?

Guilt begins to smother the young man's conscience. It creeps up his neck and drags his head low, forcing him to stare down at his feet as the pair walk in silence. A few of the other men make small talk among themselves, subtle chuckles erupting every so often.

Tae is usually not the first one included in such banter.

Not just as a result of him being a new addition, but in consequence of his secrecy about his upbringing and any real truths about himself. His partners know very little of him, which makes it difficult for him to include himself in the never-ending stream of stories about childhood shenanigans and indiscretions. Not that he had many to share in the first place.

His childhood was sheltered, to say the least.

So, the young outlaw walks in silence beside Milan, who looks everywhere but at him.

The tension is palpable and thicker than blood.

But that perceived suspense vanishes at the sight of real crimson coating the forest floor. The entire group hesitates in unison, taking in the gory sight leftover from the previous day's massacre. The sound of death seems to come alive in the form of buzzing flies, who ravish the corpses strewn across the landscape. The sound is heavy in the air, and heavier yet is the gut-churning odor, nearly strong enough to make Milan wretch.

And yet, the spectacle that truly makes bile rise into her throat is the sight of the coachman laying on the ground, his lifeless eyes staring back at her from the same place he'd fallen the day before.

She had definitely killed a man.

Maximilian swallows the vomit at the tip of her tongue, holding her breath as she shoves past the men who've paused for a moment to scour the ground for anything useful. Even as she breaks past their group and marches onto the trail, the pungent odor clings to her like a second skin.

So consumed by the suffocating smell, she fails to notice the shadow hovering beside her.

"I'm sorry you had to see that."

Milan jumps out of her skin, pivoting to gape at the uninvited company beside her.

"I'm sorry I was a part of it," she mutters spitefully, the memory of the coachman's empty gaze searing her eyelids with each blink.

He stills for a moment, but is unrelenting in trailing the young woman as she storms down the dirt road; jogging as far from the massacre as distance will allow. "It's not an easy thing, I know. And again, I'm sorry you had to be there."