running from the past

Though he tended to take perverse enjoyment in all who fell to his mercy, he was not without his favorites and not at all ashamed to make it known. There were perks to being King. Namely the obligatory deference of others to do his bidding no matter the nature. Questioning a royal was generally handled with tact if at all, but the questioning of the All-Father himself was practically a death sentence. But that was only part of the fun. Once he was able to track her whereabouts to a general region, it was then his great honor to pick up her trail personally. His body and soul hemorrhaged with a mighty need for her at his side. She was integral to his power, the embodiment of his true achievement and victory over Mythal. 

Because she would never belong to her parents. She was his the moment he decreed it so, the moment her soul trapped against his. 

So it didn't matter to him that she rebuffed his presence, that she ran from him, that she hid from him. In an eternal life, mortal dilemmas such as these faded in with the rest of existence, indistinguishable from the rest. When Arithari ran, he would find her. It didn't matter how far or how long, he was patient in her regard. Where she experienced desperate panic, he portrayed a stoic composure, walking at a slow pace along the path of her scent.  

He could hear a very distant rhythm of her heartbeat. Either she was physically far or she had found a way to dampen her pulse in order to remain hidden. This is a waste of our time together Arithari. He said as he reached out for a twig full of thorns drenched in her blood. He closed the barbs in his fist and allowed them to puncture his own skin as he continued walking along his path. You must be tired. Rest Arithari, let me help you. A calm dulcet tone aimed to slipped past her barriers of resolve.