look on my works, ye mighty, and depair
The refusal earns a raised eyebrow, the move forward even more so. Shaju stands like a marble statue in the rain, a silent monolith for Sunjata to throw himself against. The blade clatters to the wet sand and he sees it, the way the boy breaks and crumbles, the rebel surrendering at last. He is learning. Weak, always so weak, but here and now, finally he might be moulded into something worth the blood that flows through his veins and soaks his clothes.
Shaju steps in, reaching out to grasp Sunjata by the shirt and drag him up close. "You are nothing," he says, his voice a low rumble, almost growled into the boy's ear. "You have always been nothing. Too weak to hold my torch. Too soft to weather the storms of our heritage. Too stubborn and stupid to know when to give up." A scoff of a laugh leaves his lips. "Not any more, though. And for that?" He leans in closer, to share this moment.
"For that, son, I am proud of you."
Shaju steps in, reaching out to grasp Sunjata by the shirt and drag him up close. "You are nothing," he says, his voice a low rumble, almost growled into the boy's ear. "You have always been nothing. Too weak to hold my torch. Too soft to weather the storms of our heritage. Too stubborn and stupid to know when to give up." A scoff of a laugh leaves his lips. "Not any more, though. And for that?" He leans in closer, to share this moment.
"For that, son, I am proud of you."
SHAJU
