Balthazar glared after the young man and his party as they boarded his ship, tugging on the base of his tunic and pulling it tight across his chest. His eyes burned with barely suppressed hatred, and his hands seemed to have balled themselves into fists of their own volition. He turned on his heel and gazed out across the open water ahead of them, his mind reeling. He had never expected to see that miserable coward again, especially after all these years.
His gaze fell on the massive wooden figure fixed to the bowhead, and his mood suddenly changed from righteous anger to profound sadness. He placed a hand gently on the figure's back, and let out a cleansing breath. Giving into his temper would only make matters worse, he knew; but hate burned in his chest, and picturing Kyo's smug face brought bile to his throat. He had tried to forgive him, years ago, when his wounds were still fresh. But the scars of hate still ached, and he could never forget what that boy had done - and now, he was travelling with-- what? A replacement? He lost sight, in his anger, of why he had agreed to allow him or his party to board the April Rain in the first place - no shiny trinket was worth this.
He closed his eyes and forced back tears of both rage and sorrow. “Forgive me, sister,” he whispered.