#offrozenblood

A long and sad whimper escaped the Knight’s lips as he brought his hands to his head in despair. If only he had still been conscious to witness the rest of the fight taking place, to jump in Smough’s place, then maybe he would still have been alive at this point. One of his hands shivered as it went down to touch the bandage covering his chest. The wound was fresh and painful and needed the fabric needed to be changed at least twice a day for now or else it might get infected.

The words then hit him and more tears fell down his face. He felt so bad for breaking down like this in front of someone, his very own pupil to say the least. He was a powerful Knight of Gwyn, a Dragonslayer. Someone like him wasn’t supposed to cry or show any weakness to begin with. And here he was, the weakest he had ever been. “He would have loved to hear those words for himself. Oh, if only you knew how hard he always tried to prove himself so he could become a true Knight. I thank you from the bottom of my heart...”

( 陰の太陽 ) —

He was silent, breathless even, in the moments she spoke, made to set him upright, push him forward. His eyes quivered and he forced himself to look away. He could not seem to focus on her, what she said. He still heard her, though; he heard enough.

She was not wrong necessarily. He knew what fate awaited him if he refused her offer of aid, if he stayed. Yet, hearing her suggestion alone--- to take flight, live to fight another day--- it only seemed to harden his heart. Why wait for the inevitable? Certainly, they could flee... but, how many would die protecting a god who, in his end, would only follow them? It seemed fruitless, hopeless. Death was the fate of all things. Is it not? Why should they run?

Too, though, against the wash of sadness and futility that moved in him, there was something else--- anger. And it was that which forced him to his feet, forced his vision to still and fix on her once she had grown silent, vibrating against the echoes of the hall around them. His head shook. He would go, then. Hope was a lovely thing to give, he thought, and he could give little else anymore.

He had heard about this girl several times, according to the Gods she was a Witch without a home. At least, that’s what Ornstein had understood from it. Witches had done so many things for them in the past, so taking her in was the least they could do. But even so, he had never actually met her. A few quick glances was all they had ever shared.

He remembered Gwyn telling him that she’d be trained by someone as well. And even after he disappeared to link the first flame, he would barely see her around. It was until one day, when rather sudden Smough came to him to inform that he needed to train her for a chance. Because apparently the Knight that had been training her wasn’t available for today.

Ornstein was somewhat surprised that out of all the Knights they picked him for today, but he nodded either way. It wasn’t like he had an important duty to attend to today anyways. So he asked Smough to take over and with that decided, left the room to find the girl.

A pale woman, with long silver hair dressed in what seems to be a long white dress. Her eyes are almost white, a unique colour for someone who isn’t hollow and one that most definitely isn’t seen a lot across the land. She appears to be young, possibly in her begin twenties, but Ornstein might be off about that. He had never been good at guessing someone’s age to begin with, especially with so many Hollows across the land.

He barely knew the woman, but she appeared to be royal to both the kingdom and the people living in it. This fact alone was enough for Ornstein to accept her with arm wide open. She had a mysterious vibe to her, in such a way that made it difficult for him to tell a lot about her. One day she just appeared and Lord Gwyn seemed to take her in without hesitation.