he settles into the band of the hawk the way one settles uneasily into a new injury. the tight and twinging pain of a pulled muscle, a puncture wound healing over layer by layer, the unwelcome ache of a broken bone during winter. they welcome him tentatively, at first, and then with open armsâas soon as they realize what it is he can do. from this welcome comes a strange series of dynamics: they respect him, they fear him, they want him to like them, or they want to be him, or they mock him to cover their own shame. what alarms him more is the realization he cares. what is he meant to do with that?
they battle, and laugh, and drink together, jeer and crow and scream at the top of their lungs like wild animals, and guts stands at the edges of it all, uncertain. if griffith has set himself above them, their commander, and casca has set herself apart from them, then guts finds himself stranded, hungry to be a part of the pack, andâafraid. it all feeds back into the feeling that is most familiar for him, the easiest. it's not until after his temper has risen and fallen again that he realizes he's beginning to regret it.
it's casca that frightens him most easily. or she and griffith, in their own ways. the spat they'd gotten into earlier today hadn't been serious, but he'd been left feeling like he'd lost even when he hadn't. it's happening more and more often: she challenges him, and he doesn't buckle, but he comes... almost close. the rest are happy to embrace him for what he is, what he can do, but he and casca struggle against each other like a violent tide.
when casca follows him out of camp and through the edge of the trees, he's still trying to grapple with the familiar pulse of his own temper. there are no stars, tonight, just the moon. the leaves shift and cut through the sheen of light like the smattering of blood into the dirt. it's been a hard day. he'll come to his senses soon. it's a slip that he confesses anything to her at allâwhat surprises him more is that she says she knows, easy as anything. he licks his lips. she asks why he's snapped. he grinds his teeth, tries to speak. " you're... " the thoughts can churn all they want in his head, but when it comes to giving them a voice, he struggles. he can say nothing at all, or the wrong thing.
he's thinking of dilos, the rest. to them, casca is not so much a peer some days as a nursemaid, target, thing. " you could win any bout against any of them. " but she only tries her hand with him. " they insult you. you don't move against any of it. i don't understand why. "
