Daxten listened to the criticisms directed at him with stoic patience born of years of being an older brother and months of training to be a footsoldier. No matter what happened, no matter what was said, you couldn't let your emotions show on your face. Not in front of a superior officer. No matter how angry you were, no matter how offended you were, no matter how bad they made you feel, you held it in until you were dismissed. Daxten knew that better than anyone. That was how he'd survived being...
He tensed, his entire body becoming as taut as a drawn bow.
The memories slithered back into the depths of his mind, but their poison was still firmly inside him, waiting for the moment he dropped his guard. Daxten knew he would likely have nightmares tonight, but he had no one to blame but himself. It was he who couldn't get past what had happened. He who couldn't move on. He didn't know why. He didn't know how.
He jumped when something brushed against his leg. A curse escaped him in a soft rush of breath before he could stop it. He almost kicked at the something in retaliation, but then he realized that the something was Azalea. She was watching him, her amethyst eyes filled with kindness. She was trying to comfort him, he realized. And he realized that she could likely feel the tenseness in his body, but she couldn't understand why he was so tense. She would assume it was because he was being yelled at, being criticized for not knowing anything, for not having the proper training as a dragon rider and what did he think he was doing there, and for now, Daxten decided he was content with letting her believe that. Maybe one day he would tell her.
Maybe.
He reached out then and placed his palm on her neck, letting the warmth of his skin melt into her chilly scales. He said nothing, hoping the gesture was enough to assure Azalea that he was just fine. That he would be okay. Somehow.
It was then that Daxten realized something, something that perhaps he'd realized on a fundamental level before, and only now had decided to acknowledge. Having Azalea with him, being focused on her and her success, gave him something to focus on. She gave him something to do. To be. She was his chance to undo the sins of his past and, perhaps, his chance to find forgiveness. Not forgiveness from those who'd been with him, but forgiveness from himself, for being too weak, too young, too innocent to understand the working of the world around him and for being unable to do anything about it.
Then, not caring about anyone else's opinions besides the dragoness upon whose back he sat, Daxten leaned forward until he was practically flat against her neck and wrapped his arms as far around as he could. He closed his eyes tight and pressed his face against her scales, and gave Azalea the hardest, tightest hug he could manage.