Whose Is It?

"Talk to me! What has gone wrong?" Taff asked, this time, with a softer tone of voice. He was concerned and worried down to his marrow. And with how he saw the commander, Taff's heart raced in his chest. The man was a strong person full of zest, so to see him this way made Taff intensely restless.

"Everything…" Mabon muttered. His nose twitched in a struggle to stifle a burst of weeping that threatened to come to the surface. He couldn't cry in front of Taff even though every cell in his body wanted to.

However, Taff's keen gaze and intelligent mind took note. He wrapped his hand around Mabon's shoulder and steered him in the direction he wanted them to go.

"Come here… let's not talk here. The walls have ears…" Taff said.

He took the commander to the throne room. The guards closed the doors behind them. Taff was confident that they could speak there without being heard.

"Mabon… tell me what happened. Whose blood is that on your sleeve?"