Now I know I've got to run away.

Tic couldn't have stopped himself from interrupting the axe that was sure to fall straight through Matthias. He couldn't have prepared himself to watch a man be split in half; to see, hear, and feel the agony of another's death. Not again, at least. No, he didn't want to experience that ever again.

He stood, shaking numbly, watching on through a slight daze of dull shock. In a flash, Matthias had rolled away, avoiding Larkin's blade, and had sprinted for the doors. A short relief came to Tic, which quickly faded as he watched the guards exit and pursue the outlander. He didn't have time to wonder whether the man would make it; a sharp anxiety had suddenly shrouded his thoughts, as he became well aware of who was left behind.

Tic back stepped, away from the rage that seemed to radiate from Larkin. He was still holding the axe, slim and silver with a menacing shine. Tic's face flushed with fear, his knees feeling weak. He didn't know what Larkin would do to him now -- he must've thought Matthias was from The Sink, come to save him. He suddenly wanted to correct this -- assure the ruler that he, himself, wasn't anything of importance -- but Larkin began to approach.

Tic stifled the urge to cry out, legs suddenly losing their movement. He looked straight up into the glare, his own wet eyes shining with unspoken trepidation. The man walked slowly, black strands of hair brushing his face, orange eyes piercing through the dim light of the room. He moved in, closer, lowering the axe into a single hand.

Tic could hear nothing but the violent beating of his heart as he stood there, trembling numbly. Cold pressures pushed against his face, draining it of all warmth. A cold thrill suddenly pierced his back, as a gloved hand was thrown out, seizing him tightly.