Wrench knows that look as it comes into Sandor's eyes
He's known a lot of men who posture about killing. Some who have never done it and never could, and some who simply like to pretend it doesn't impact them as much as it clearly has. They build up walls around themselves with their stories and repeat them over and over like wishing could make them true. It's exhausting. There's nothing Wrench hates more than men who love to talk about killing.
That's not what Sandor's doing, though. He sees it and he recognizes it and he goes a little quieter as a result. Several seconds pass where there's nothing but the sound of Wrench's blade being wiped over the wet grass and the sloshing of muck and hog's blood.
I don't know. Sounded halfway to a poem to me. "Aye" and "eye." You're already rhyming.
He half-expects to get elbowed in the head, but he bites back a grin anyhow.
no subject
He's known a lot of men who posture about killing. Some who have never done it and never could, and some who simply like to pretend it doesn't impact them as much as it clearly has. They build up walls around themselves with their stories and repeat them over and over like wishing could make them true. It's exhausting. There's nothing Wrench hates more than men who love to talk about killing.
That's not what Sandor's doing, though. He sees it and he recognizes it and he goes a little quieter as a result. Several seconds pass where there's nothing but the sound of Wrench's blade being wiped over the wet grass and the sloshing of muck and hog's blood.
I don't know. Sounded halfway to a poem to me. "Aye" and "eye." You're already rhyming.
He half-expects to get elbowed in the head, but he bites back a grin anyhow.
No, there's no guns here. Just Gods.