Eyes flick back and forth. Tension, pain. Anger. From people he cared about. The radiating emotions stab into the shaman.
Instincts. The nagging whispers in the back of his mind. Aching to comfort and soothe, or to hide out until the storm had passed. Especially when it meant looking back on his own past. And yet ... when would he learn to stop running, if he continued to retreat?
"Actions have consequences, and those repercussions must be felt. But." A pointed gaze toward Avis. "Do you believe that anyone in this room has entirely avoided breaking vows? We are all fallible. But the Arrow must be led."
A shudder. Words uttered in a bout of petty wrath, now coming true before his eyes. "Would you deny the Order's survival, because no one fits on a pedestal?"