It became difficult for Christill to talk with the rest of his family as the night of the wedding drew nearer. Reinar seemed to be avoiding the brothers since the night of the games and Christill had not been able to bring himself to talk to Siri. The guilt he felt was gnawing away at his insides. No matter how hard Thibalt tried to convince him that it was not directly their fault, Christill felt responsible. Thibalt soon gave up trying and left Christill to himself.
More than ever Christill was feeling the burden of his Feldonian heritage. Each lesson that he attended reminded him of the promise that Reinar had made. He watched Thibalt closely at times, noticing that he had been able to return to his work in the forges with greater ease. He had even managed to forgive Palen for abandoning them that night. Christill was not so quick to forgive.
They had managed to avoid Cathan and his followers since the assault, yet Christill could tell that the hatred had only grown in Thibalt, and that his brother was struggling to keep it contained.
Finally the day of the wedding arrived. Christill rose from his bed early and left the house. He had no intention of being in the city today. He headed to the outskirts of Hamal and made his way into the outer farmlands. He did not stop when he passed them and continued out into the Miirvkin Desert. It was long into the night by the time Christill returned to Hamal.
As he walked back towards his home, the sounds of the celebrations carried over from the Mul'Pha Square. He found himself thinking about the lands across the Sea of Turmoil. A whole new world lay out there. Feldom; his true homeland. And the mysterious Misty Forest, said to be guarded rigorously by the goddess Nyrune. He suddenly craved to see them, to get away from this callous land. But as the door to his home appeared he realised that it was only a dream.
Entering the house, Christill was startled by deep voice. "I did not think that you would go."
He looked up to the table where he found Thibalt, sitting with a large double edged axe in his lap. He sat there staring at Christill, all the while rubbing a layer of fat onto the blade.
"Then you know me too well," Christill replied. "I see that you finally finished it," he continued, motioning to the axe.
Thibalt nodded his head and looked into Christill's eyes. There was a brief silence and then he asked, "Christill you need to try and adapt."
"Thibalt I am not like you. I am not accepted as you are."
"Then stand up for yourself. Show them that you are strong. I have to fight every day."
Christill thought about the last years and on how many occasions he had wanted to show the other Miirvkin that he was not a weakling. He glanced at the heavy axe in Thibalt's hands. How could he ever wield something like that? The one thing Thibalt had that Christill lacked was raw strength. His mind suddenly recalled their conversation in the forge on the night of the games and he managed a smile.
"Very soon I will join you on one of your hunts," he said.
Thibalt raised his brow suspiciously, "You think that you can match me in the hunt do you?"
"Not match you, best you."
"I await that day then," Thibalt replied with a smirk.
CHAPTER THREE
THE GREAT DESERT
Dawn of the Valiant (The Valerious Chronicles: Book One) Page 13