#langhorne

A sharp knock at the door startles him. He glances over, the door opening wide to reveal the dreary-skinned quartermaster — Presna.

She raises her one brow, her skin pulling taut around the deep scars around the other eye socket. She surveys him like a hawk, her one sharp eye creased slightly at the inner corner.

"Halley." She greets him, her voice gravelly and stern. She steps in, the door shutting behind her with a soft click. She inhales, "Tis' everything alright?"

"Merry," he huffs, a thin smile pressed at the corner of his lips. "My mind is rather occupied, is all."

Presna's pose remains rigid, her shoulders squared and tensed as she watches Langhorne seem to squirm beneath her ladened gaze. Her brow creases as she scrutinises over his fidgeting, her tongue tracing over her yellowed teeth. "Silver, I presume?"

Langhorne stiffened at her words. His face betrayed him before he could give an answer. His gaze drops from her face down to her feet, his lips curling into a scowl.

She thins her lips, squinting her eyes before shaking her head with a sigh. "You are too soft," her glare remains unyielding, "Again."

Langhorne remains silent.

"Your leniency is what almost had her killed. What almost killed you." She lets out a sharp huff of exasperation, shaking her head as she steps forward. "I fear your greatest concern is coming true. She's becoming like him— "

"Rid the thought," Langhorne snaps, straightening his shoulders. "She is not — and will never — be like him."

Presna glares at him with her singular, piercing eye. She watches his newly bolstered confidence shrivel away, watches his belief in his own words grow scarce by the second. She watches his sureness turn to fear.

"Are you not exhausted? Believing the same falsehood of your own invention? She's rampant, like an animal, and yet you do little but look on? Is she no longer a daughter to you?" She pauses, chewing on her lip for a moment. "I warned you when it 'twas him, and I am warning you now that it is her. Do something, or I will."

Langhorne's breathing grows heavy. Presna steps back to give one last cursory glance, before turning around to open the door. She strides out, the wind pulling and slamming the door shut in her absence. His head spins, his stomach lurching with the burden of guilt, and he's forced to find a place to sit.

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