Guilt. Guilt was something different to Altair. He was a remorseless assassin. He was not suppose to feel quilt! He was not use to this feeling. From a young
age he was reckless. Arrogant. Strong willed. Hard headed. These were not the best qualities, but they were his none the less. His actions in the past have caused
him injuries and actually have caused casualties...Now what was this thing that was causing him to feel this foreign emotion? It was his long time rival..Malik
Al-Sayf, who was currently working on some faulty maps with his shirt off due to the summer heat. Altair stared at his rival with his brown and honey gold eyes.
They scanned over to the man's naked back, landing on the bandaged stub that use to be his left arm. Another surge hits Altair in his chest, more specifically
his heart. That stub that once was an arm...was his fault...his actions had caused that. There was no one else to blame but himself. Then, another realization
surged in his mind. Malik's younger brother, Kadar, was also gone. Because of him. Of him...Altair's face fell behind the shade of his hood. He must be the bane
of Malik's existence. Malik was too engorged in his work to notice the tension and sadness in the room emminating off Altair. He didn't even notice when said
man left the room quietly.
That night after a heavy session of love making, Malik lay on the bed, his back pressed to Altair's chest while the other man rubbed
the bandaged wound , his missing arm. Malik's eyes narrowed, his nose scrunching just slightly. Altair never showed any type of love and care like this. Altair
usually did touch him, but...this was not the usual. Altair was rubbing the injury as if...as if rubbing it would make it grow back. "What are you doing, novice?"
he was met with silence. "Novice." he continued again, this time he was answered. "Nothing." was the curt answer. The touching continued along with the
silence. As malik drifted off he heard the softest voice he ever heard...It was Altair's voice. "I'm so sorry..."