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Var’gash couldn’t seem to be able to hide the surprise in his eyes, the slight horror that tinged his expression as Alarak walked out into the centre of the pits. His supplicants could feel it, he knew, watching the red wisps of their psionic connections fan out between each of them, sharing their thoughts, a little of their emotions. Alarak held on to the satisfaction that he had shaken them tightly, trying to override the agony in his head as he threw the empty, useless metal casing that once enveloped his nerve cords onto the sand between them.
He scoffed, answering Var’gash’s questioning glance with as much venom as he could muster. “As though I would give you the satisfaction of a trophy.”
In that moment, the younger Tal’darim seemed to compose himself, his brow knitting together in an almost murderous glare of his own as the spectators murmured, as his supplicants murmured. “So to spite me, you dig your own grave, Alarak? Fine. As a mercy, I will end this quickly.”
For just a moment, the haze of pain put Alarak back on the edge of the arena, watching a bloodied Nuroka step out in only his robes as he was mocked by Ma’lash. A flash of unease scraped against his ribcage at the memory, and he couldn’t help but glance at the crowd, hoping he wouldn’t see a familiar figure among them ready to run out and try to meddle as he once had.
Your supplicants are safe, and she would never step foot on Slayn again. You know this.
Shrugging, he put himself properly in his place as the sun stretched out towards the marker, glancing at the group and seeing no wavering faith among them despite his strange display. Once again, he thought of Nuroka, of that Rak’Shir, of how, had it been a century or so before, these Tal’darim would have given any opportunity to cut each other down for even a little more power. There was no part of him that could call them weak anymore; he could take pride in a more unified people, even if they were there to see him dead.
After all, he thought wryly, they have always wished for that.
Finally, the weak light of Slayn’s choked sun passed over the marker, and he nodded to Var’gash. Psionic energy built, swirled and whipped around them, pushing the grit and the sand across the weathered metal path as both of them were raised a foot in to the air. Alarak’s body shuddered from the spike of raw agony that using this power now brought as more energy bled from the mess of rotting stumps in the back of his head. All he could do was try to focus on keeping his face as neutral as possible; he still had to pretend to put up a fight.
It was an easy walk towards the pit behind him. With the overwhelming support Var’gash had gathered, it was no surprise that even as they threw a few raw, psionic blows, this was over before it had even begun. Over the sound of the constant howling wind, the spectators were silent.
They stopped at the edge of the large, rounded mouth of the tunnel that led to the centre of the planet, filled with hot, rippling energy that whipped his skirts around his legs and crept heat up his leg even through the thick metal of his armour. Hanging there over it, he felt the fear once again grip him. From where he was, he could see the ledge that he had to hold onto, but for a fleeting moment his heart was convinced he wasn’t ready.
“I almost feel sorry for you, Alarak.” His opponent remarked, taking hold of his right arm with one hand. The psionic support he had been leant made his grip tight enough that he felt it through his armour. “I can hardly even call this a victory.”
“Save me your pity. I thought that you wished to end this quickly.”
“I do. I want this to be the last time we are forced to watch such needless slaughter. You did what you could despite your old ways and your pride, but I will do better, and Ri’kara will receive the gift that you refused to give her.”
Then, before the rage could overtake him at that last comment, Var’gash pulled him closer, forced him to hold his gaze as he hitched a serrated, hooked blade in between the panels of his gauntlet and his upper arm even as he struggled in his grip. “I hope you don’t mind if I indulge in this one thing, however.”
Alarak’s blood ran cold. “What?”
“I will be having the satisfaction of a trophy. A tribute for my mother.”
He let out some of that rage in a low growl and glanced down at the blade, his hearts pounding in his chest as he realised that, once the psionic power keeping them levitating dissipated, the increased gravity of the pit’s gaping maw would make that blade slice through his arm like butter.
“You agreed to keep me alive—”
The younger Tal’darim nodded, cat-like eyes softening. “I did, and I will, but I didn’t agree to make it easy. Good luck.”
Panic gripped him, the dull ache of his severed cords again a sudden, searing pain with the heightened emotions washing over him. Do not even think of begging, he chastised himself through the fear. Hot metal pressed against his arm, scorching the fabric of the suit he wore underneath the intricate panelling as his body began to sink.
Then, as though a rubber band had snapped, he dropped.
The swirling heat of the energy that filled the pit seared his legs and his abdomen. It raged and whipped around him, threatening to take him with it. His arms screamed with two different types of excruciating pain; he was losing blood fast from the severed stump of one, and the other burned with the effort of keeping him holding tightly to the ledge while he struggled to jam his feet into a foothold.
There was a platform just above, one he could at least rest on and staunch the bleeding, but he needed to lift himself. With every passing second, that grew to be more and more of an impossibility.
That creeping, clawing dread took hold of his hearts and swelled them in his ribcage. He couldn’t help but wonder in that brief moment of weakness if it had all been for nothing; if his plan would fail and he would die right then. Var’gash would still get his wish.
He would have the Tal’darim, Alarak would disappear, and he would never get any of the things that he had thrown it all away for.
Briefly, his eyes closed, and he let out a short, frustrated growl.
None of that.
Again, he brushed his armoured feet against the foothold, shifting slightly. His hearts dropped through his abdomen as he felt himself slip, but after another moment, he finally managed to get himself steady enough to start lifting. All the while, he cursed Var’gash for making it as difficult as he could.
Finally, he shuffled himself back into the alcove after pulling himself onto the ledge. His arm shook from the effort and for a moment the world began to spin. Quickly, he tore his robes, pulling them away from the armoured belt and cutting enough to make a bandage for his new stump. His heartbeat raged in his head more loudly than even the swirling storm below, but once he had managed to awkwardly tie the knot with one hand, he relaxed.
Or, at least, he tried to. Panic refused to release its grip on him; the realisation that he had let himself come so close to death, that he had put his life in someone else’s hands, was almost paralysing.
Pathetic. Get a hold of yourself. He glared at nothing in particular, chest heaving, unable to take in air fast enough. It was, as always, a small mercy that such moments only lasted for brief stretches of time. Finally, he felt his muscles release, and he slumped against the wall behind him.
Above, the sky was turning dark. It wouldn’t be long before he had to make the final climb out of the pit; at least he had one last Terrazine vial for that. He would need Var’gash’s luck.
The loss of blood was starting to get to him. Tiredness pulled at him, a sudden shiver of cold cut through the searing heat. He knew he shouldn’t close his eyes, but…
Against his better judgement, he let his already heavy eyelids slip closed.
The sun was bright, almost bright enough to blind him, but it was warm, so warm, and as gentle as the feather-light touch on his arm.
Lay in the grass next to him, Ri’kara tapped him to get his attention. She was, as always, irritatingly beautiful bathed in that warm gold that Aiur’s sky so often poured onto the landscape. Her eyes looked soft, and she gave him a smile as he looked at her, though there was a sadness beneath it.
“I’d like to stay like this forever, I think.” She said quietly.
He remembered this conversation; it was a week before he had been set to leave, a week before he was sentenced to die. They had been afforded a small reprieve, so she had, for some reason, decided to show him a small, secluded little garden behind one of the still abandoned buildings; somewhere secret, she had said. It was unkempt, wild, but it was thriving under the afternoon rays.
Alarak shrugged. “As you say, Ri’kara; ‘there is always work to be done’.”
She gave him a look then rolled her eyes, laughing a little. “I know.”
“It is not as though this place will disappear. You may always come here later; I am not the only friend that you could bring along.”
She shook her head. “It wouldn’t be the same.”
That had confused him then. He furrowed his brow. “How so?”
Ri’kara didn't answer that, the sadness on her face so raw in that moment before she forced another smile and another laugh to fight off the tears that were welling in her eyes. “I’m sure you wouldn’t understand if I told you.”
There was a subdued silence, and then she looked at him again.
“Alarak—"
“Alarak!”
Arun’s desperate shout drew him from his half-delirious slumber. Darkness had fallen completely, purple tinge mixing with the red swirl of energy.
He blinked, looking around himself before realising exactly where he was. Panic gripped him, and he fumbled for that last vial of Terrazine to inhale. The rush made him suddenly alert, and he saw the rope hanging down in front of him, swaying in the air.
“He’s awake.” Nyra’s stern voice had a note of panic to it, barely audible above the thundering in his head.
“Alarak, grab it, we’ll pull you out!” Arun’s yell was somehow more frantic.
For a moment, Alarak stared at it, trying to will himself to move at all. They’d come for him, even though he’d told them to leave and be free, they hadn’t listened. They were still here to meddle, just not in the way he had expected.
It frustrated him; somewhere in the back of his mind, anger bubbled to the surface, and he half-heartedly frowned through the haze. They should be gone. He let them go.
Finally, his stiff limbs began to obey the will of his brain, dragging themselves towards the rope and taking a hold of it firmly. He gave it a tug, and then he was moving, being lifted out of the alcove. His would-be grave stretched out infinitely below him, the dizzying height disorienting his already muddled head.
It took the combined effort of both Arun and Nyra, but they dragged him up to safety, grabbing him as soon as he came into view and pulling.
“Why are you here? I told you to leave.” He found it was more difficult to speak to them than it had been before, like a sound muffled behind a wall.
“We didn’t listen.” Nyra snapped. Her voice was as muffled until she took a hold of him and pulled him to his feet as Arun held him steady. “And good thing too, you fucking fool.”
They took him quickly to a small vessel tucked behind one of the bordering walls of the arena, ushering him in and sitting him down in a well-lit corner. The rest of them were in there, worry clear in their expressions as they busied themselves with getting the run-down flier ready to leave the planet.
Arun was immediately tending to his arm once the doors closed, bandaging it properly, applying the right amount of pressure. Then, he got to work removing the armour plates, gesturing to Ra’noch to help him with their more delicate fingers. There was an unfamiliar look of anger clear on his face as he turned his head a little to the side once the neck and headguards came off.
“Your cords too.” He muttered, glaring at him. “What were you thinking?!”
“I didn’t cut off my arm.” Alarak snapped. Well, he tried; his words slurred and for a moment he felt dizzy. The Terrazine was wearing off already.
“I know you didn’t; I saw that happen. Imbecile. Did you even use a psi-blade? Or was it a knife? These are still bleeding energy! Put your head forward now.”
“As though... As though you are in any position to speak to me that way.” It was half-hearted. He couldn’t even muster an edge to his voice anymore, and he found that he was doing as he was told.
They had always pushed the boundaries of their station, always been a little more casual, but this was new. They seemed so concerned that it threw all politeness or pretence of rank out the window.
Arun scoffed. “You are no longer Highlord, and I am no longer your Supplicant; I can speak how I please and I am telling you that you are insane. It’s a very good thing that Zy’mun has his irritatingly accurate hunches, or you might have died.”
Carefully, he cauterised each of the tiny stumps at the base of his head. “At least you cut them cleanly. Perhaps you might even be able to have new ones fitted.”
The pain was more evident then. Each quick burn became more intense until he couldn’t help but try to flinch away. Nyra swore softly and held him still.
“That Terrazine is wearing off already.” She gave a nervous glance to Arun.
“Giving him more would be foolish; look at his eyes.”
“Can we risk an overdose?”
An overdose? Alarak frowned a little, forcing himself to relax in Nyra’s grip. He hadn’t even taken that much, had he? His head began to pound again; he didn’t remember.
Arun looked him over, hand lifting to his chin. His brow knit tighter as he weighed his options and finally sighed, growling with irritation.
“As though we have a choice in the matter. I am sure Aiur will have the equipment available to actually treat him. Ra’noch—"
Ra’noch was already there with another dose, passing it to Arun, who passed it carefully to Alarak. Alarak found he could barely muster the energy to take the too-sweet chemical; even after he had, he was barely alert.
“Help Ka’tor get the ship moving.” Arun nudged Ra’noch and shot at glance at the aforementioned Tal’darim. “Where is Zy’mun?”
Zy’mun poked his head up from the hatch that led to the lower deck’s mechanisms. “Here. Making sure we don’t blow up on our way out of the atmosphere.”
Nyra swore again, louder this time, and glared at the small Tal’darim. “Don’t fucking tell me you’re trying to tempt fate again now! We don’t have time for your crystal ball bullshit!”
“Without my ‘crystal ball bullshit’ Alarak would be dead, and we’d have never lived with ourselves!” He shot back, and then sighed, lowering his voice again. “No, I was being cautious; we want to get all of us back alive, don’t we?”
Nyra relaxed again with him; for once they wouldn’t be launching into a full argument, and the pounding in Alarak’s head was grateful for the reprieve from their usual bickering. She only relaxed slightly though, a barely audible, irritated growl leaving her. “Fine. Let me get a blanket or something, he’s shaking like a branch in a storm.”
Was he? Alarak frowned and looked down at his only hand. It was jittering; that one shiver of cold had spread, began to settle in to his bones and he tried to draw closer into himself, stump moving uselessly where a limb once was. For a moment, it felt as though his other arm was wrapping around him, and then the sensation was gone.
She was back again quickly, putting spare robes over him.
The fabric was warm, like the sun in his brief dream. Once again, he felt his eyes slip closed, but he was jolted by a quick slap on the cheek, and Arun made him look into his cat-like pupils. For just a moment, Alarak saw Var’gash instead.
“Don’t you dare; you’ve come too far for that.”
He couldn’t speak anymore. His connection to anything at all was frustratingly faint; all he could muster was a half-hearted glare at him. He knew what he meant, however, felt it somehow. If he allowed himself to fall asleep again, he might not wake up.
Still, the lure was too much. Another moment, and he was out like a snuffed candle. The last he felt was his body slumping to the side, and Arun’s panicked voice far off.
“Fuck. Nyra, help me move him. Now.”
She nodded, shifting her grip to instead lift him and place him in one of the small, enclosed bunks on the ship. As she moved back, she sighed, rubbing her face with one large hand, and let out a dry laugh.
“Maybe your lecturing put him to sleep.”
The attempt at humour deepened Arun’s already intense frown.
“Hilarious. You are suddenly very relaxed after all your worry earlier.”
“I’d prefer him unconscious; easier to move once we get to Aiur.”
“… He could die.”
“If he does, so be it.” Nyra stretched. “It is his own fault for deciding to keep us in the dark about this little stunt. Who the fuck decides to climb out of the pit by themselves? It’s fucking suicide.”
There was a chilly pause between them. Arun simply looked away.
“Nyra, come and help me navigate.” Ka’tor called, leaving Arun alone to stew.
The chill deepened as his psionic muttering lay uncomfortably over other sounds. The ship climbed higher, shuddering slightly with the force it needed to leave the atmosphere, but still Arun’s grating mood was somehow louder.
“… Are you alright, Arun?” Ra’noch spoke softly, sitting next to him.
Arun made a small, annoyed sound. “Yes.”
“You don’t sound it.”
“Of course not. He—” Another annoyed sound. “Did he take leave of his senses? I hate to say that Nyra is right; I have never once seen him do something so utterly stupid and suicidal. It’s the opposite of how he operates. And he told us to leave; he told me to leave!”
Ra’noch frowned sympathetically, putting a hand on his arm. “You’re taking this too personally—”
It was shrugged off almost immediately. “I am taking this as personally as I need to.”
“It is natural to feel insulted, but there was a reason; there always is.” Zy’mun leant his head against his hand, drumming his claws against his jawbone.
“He likely would have perished if we had not interfered. Zy’mun had to urge us to stay! Not that I didn’t have my suspicions, but… Did he want to die?”
With a soft, thoughtful hum, Ra’noch nodded. “… Most likely.”
“Not in the way you think.” Zy’mun chimed in.
“Why go through with that?”
At that, the small Protoss rolled his eyes, narrowing them. “I’ve told you all why, but you never listen to my input.”
“Because you’re insane. As though anyone would give up that power for— No. Not Alarak, no matter how he’s changed. Be reasonable.”
Zy’mun rolled his eyes again and glared, tapping the tool in his free hand sharply against the deck. “I have been right about every single one of my predictions, yet you never take that into consideration. He did this for that aide of his, mark my words.”
For once, that made Arun stop. His eyes narrowed, sifting through everything that Zy’mun had ever brought up about the matter. Even with what had happened, the new context that clicked it all into place, the former Apostle didn’t want to believe—
“We would have to ask. I refuse to entertain it until I hear it from him.”
“I doubt you would get an answer.”
“We deserve one!”
Ra’noch put their hands out gently, trying to calm Arun as his voice finally raised enough that Ka’tor flinched in her chair.
“Let’s… We should focus on getting to Aiur; it shouldn’t be that long, and he needs care immediately or no matter what, we’ll never know.”
Their gentle, soothing voice relaxed Arun’s shoulders, and he let out a short, irritated sound. A few tense moments of silence passed, and then he nodded.
“I’ll keep watch.”
The balcony doors closed behind them, leaving them in an almost pitch black Aiur night. The sky was cloudless, the moon new, unable to cast its usual silvery glow on the landscape. Lights from the buildings below were the only indication there was anything there at all in the shadowed void.
It was silent save for the muffled music of the gathering behind them, the soft psionic whispers of open Protoss conversation buried just underneath, and a light, cool breeze.
“So… How do you like Enzu?”
“She is… Capable, I suppose. Not as capable as you.”
Ri’kara shrugged. “She’s new. It will come with time, I’m sure.”
“… I do not even understand why you would bother with an apprentice; I refuse to have a replacement.”
“Well she isn’t for you, is she?” Her tone was suddenly harsh; the glare she shot towards him like ice before she composed herself. “Sorry. It’s… Look, if the worst should happen—”
“Which it will not.”
Her eyes rolled. “So you keep saying. Should the worst happen, I won’t be an aide for Var’gash. I can’t… stand looking at him. I couldn’t stand it even if he isn’t the one to kill you.”
The Highlord sighed softly. “I understand.”
“Thank you. You know I just want to be prepared.”
The little Tal’darim adjusted the stole of her uniform and bent to pull a large armchair over to the railing, standing up on the cushions so she could properly look out at everything that her height usually wouldn’t allow. They were almost eye to eye.
“Better. The fireworks are starting soon.” She smiled in that tired way that always twisted his hearts in his chest, and he nodded.
“I am sure they would have preferred us on the upper balcony with them.”
“The Hierarch will have to cope with me stealing you away this time.” Her laugh was half-hearted, and his chest squeezed again. No matter how much he had tried to reassure her, no matter how much he hated repeating over and over again that he would come back, nothing could console her.
Part of him wondered, as the first fireworks lit up the night sky, if he should confess to her what he had done, the lengths he had gone to in order to finally have a chance.
He looked at her face, the wonder etched across it, and remembered Artanis, his sympathetic smile as he had shaken his head, told him that he only saw him as a brother, and inwardly sighed.
No. It had to be this way. He could not allow another uncertainty in his already flimsy plan.
“Aren’t they beautiful?” Ri’kara nudged him, made him properly turn his attention to the flashes of purple and gold. He shrugged; he would rather have been looking at her.
“I suppose.”
“… It’s too bad, really. You won’t see them again.”
“Hm?” He glanced back at her, watched her hand reach up to where his cord decoration should be, watched her fingers curl the empty strand between them. Where was his band…?
Alarak froze in place. Every cell in his body became alert, as though he were back on Slayn in the midst of those who might one day decide to kill him. She looked at him, and her warm smile was suddenly more like a smirk. A dream. They did not talk like this here. She didn’t say this. For a few moments he swore he could smell Terrazine on the breeze.
“What do you mean?”
“You’re dying, you know.” She looked back up at the sky again, watching the second volley of blues and greens intently. Her hands laced themselves together and she sighed. “You’re going to leave me. I always knew it, but…”
Impulsively, he took her hands in his to make her look at him, ignoring the alarm bells that were going off in the back of his mind even as he noticed that her usually cold extremities were oddly warm. He suddenly shivered, feeling as though he were only half in his body, watching the scene play out and speaking the lines it wanted him to say.
“I will not leave. I have constantly told you that I will come back as I always do.”
“I don’t believe you. Not this time… Besides, this is how you wanted it to be, no? One day you just die and are finally free of any burdens you had carried.”
“No.” Pain began to slowly burn itself across the edge of his senses, warm liquid suddenly seeping into the collar of his own uniform. He raised one hand to feel the back of his cordless head and felt dread scrape against his ribs as he pulled that hand back and found it soaked with blood. “You are not a burden; I do not want to be free of you.”
“You want to escape by whatever means necessary. You want to escape your title, your duties, your emotions…”
“I do not wish to die. I have sacrificed enough—”
“It doesn’t matter what you’ve sacrificed. You’re scared. You don’t want to have to face me, not after what you’ve done.”
“I did this for you, Ri’kara.” His body felt weaker, his hearts raced. His right hand began to crumble before his eyes, the dust catching the light breeze as more pain seared the stump of his arm, more inky blood soaking the sleeve. “This is not how I wish for it to be; I do not want to die.”
Her expression was still that soft, almost smirk, and her head tilted, a flash of mock sympathy crossing her eyes.
“Then wake up.”
Alarak’s eyes opened. That familiar gold and white filled his vision; the sun from a high window falling on the sheets and warming him. An irritating, low tone buzzed on the edge of his senses and his brow furrowed as he tried to sit up.
Had he dreamed? Something in his consciousness kept slipping away as he tried to grasp at it, refusing to be examined as he shifted uncomfortably. Why was he having so much trouble moving?
His arm… He tried to reach out but couldn’t seem to touch anything. Panic spread through him, and he looked down to find a stump. Pain, brought on somehow by the realisation, spiked all the way down to his now non-existent fingers, and he winced.
A healer was there, helping him to properly position himself, but when he tried to speak, tried to ask how long he had been there, where the others were, the connection to the Protoss next to him was so faint that he couldn’t even make the words reach him.
“You will find it difficult to speak at the moment.” The Khalai kept a hand on his shoulder; it, at the very least, made it much easier for Alarak to at least hear him. “Your lack of cords has almost completely destroyed your ability to communicate, but from the look of the remains, we will be able to apply prosthetics later. With practice in the interim, you will be able to communicate again with little trouble.”
All he could really do was nod.
“The group that you arrived with have been asking to see you. Obviously, you were in no fit state to begin with.”
To begin with? His brow furrowed. How long…?
“It has been a week. Give or take.” The healer took his frown as a question, thankfully, and answered, but it didn’t make his predicament any less of a shambles.
A week like this was too long. He had been on Slayn for more than twice that length of time; he had planned to be back on Aiur much sooner, planned to be with her much sooner.
You’re going to leave me.
His hearts quickened their pace, and he was suddenly trying to get himself out of bed, his long-severed leg greeting him when he pulled off the bedcovers. Despite the clear urgency on his face, the healer was quickly there and putting him back, frowning.
“No, not yet. You need rest.”
I do not have time for rest. Alarak let the irritation and impatience roll off him as intensely as he could muster, and the Khalai sighed, caving in somewhat.
“We wanted you to take at least a few more days after properly waking up before we put you under any strain.”
He let go of him, busying himself with checking over the displays that surrounded his pod instead. There was, annoyingly, more of a sympathetic look on his face. Experimentally, perhaps, he spoke to Alarak again without the contact.
“I can arrange for your companions to visit.”
The voice was faint, and he had to strain to hear, his head beginning to ache, but he nodded. It was enough.
“Alright. I will also alert the Hierarch that you are awake. From what I can see here, you are doing far better than we expected. If you require anything, there is a button on the console beside you; someone will be along as quickly as possible.”
Then, he was gone.
Arun and the others are here? They wish to waste their time? The angry conversation he had half-heard on the ship between bouts of dark nothing came to the forefront of his mind, and he realised that the consequences of this whole thing were going to catch him faster than he had first thought. He had hoped they would take the opportunity of freedom with both hands.
The idea of actually needing to the tell the full truth… He would rather have died in the pit.
Suddenly, the remnants of the dream he couldn’t quite remember passed properly across his mind’s eye. Ri’kara’s smirk, her accusatory remarks. No… He wouldn’t have wanted that. He could only hope she would be happy to see him, could only hope that the others don’t ask too many questions about his little stunt.
Alarak drummed his only set of fingers against the sheets beside him and his frown deepened. The silence was constricting; usually he could hear at least the faint, psionic white noise of the many Protoss that travelled through the halls in Aiur’s buildings. Usually, he heard tiny little fragments of words. It was all background noise, easily suppressed and always a little annoying, but now he found that he sorely missed it, if only because it was something that he could entertain himself with.
It would have been better than sitting and waiting and thinking of all the ways things could have worked out more positively in his favour.
I could not have avoided the cords. I was not going to give him the satisfaction of a trophy, but it was sufficient proof that I would not and could not try to claw my way back up the Chain to him again. There was no other way.
Looking down at the now useless stump that was his arm, he frowned.
As though it matters; he got his trophy regardless. It was all pointless.
With an angry growl, Alarak lowered himself awkwardly onto his back again, head jerking to the side as the stumps of his cords brushed against the pillow and gifted him with a lance of sharp pain.
As it subsided, he relaxed as well as he could, closing his eyes and instead turning his mind to exactly how he was going to explain himself.
---
