That Queen Asabel had ended up on a battlefield at all. That should not have happened. What was being thought of, to allow her to come so close? Oliver came perilously close to blaming Blackwell, but then, as naturally as a river flowing into the sea, the finger of accusation once more rested squarely on him. If only he had been stronger, so that he might protect what was important to him.
That same fact that had haunted him throughout his short life. His own lacking strength, his own inability to keep safe that which was dear to him. If he had been stronger, none of it would have come about, not a single moment.
And there was this… This that was beyond comprehension. Not only a slaying, but a torture. Something of the most inhuman realms. Done by a creature that… Oliver did not even know to begin describing the sort of creature that had seen it done.
He heard the clamour of battle from behind him, and vaguely was he aware that an enemy force was making their way down the hill.
