Oghren smashed her horses the day she left. Off she went, not a word in her mouth and fire in her eyes, the whole damned house behind her but him. They laughed, he knew. He'd've laughed too, what, a Paragon's husband too worthless to even follow her to suicide.
Ha!
So he smashed the horses. Knocked them all off the stone shelf she liked to keep them on so she could see them. They were sorry human things, made of glass and porcelain that crashed against the stone floor. Bits of heads and hooves skittered about, and he crushed them beneath his boot, all violence and rage until he was nothing but an empty drunk.
He sank to the floor, snuffling loudly, beard damp with tears and snot. That damn woman. Stupid woman. That fucking spiteful amazing woman. He made a choice, while he tried to put the figurines back together with clumsy fingers that dropped and crushed the fragile little fragments. The one he knew he would, the one he had to. He'd go after her; someone would help. Of course they had to. She'd made a mistake.
They'd make it work, like they always had.
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