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Just one more day. Just one more day. Just one more day.

Chopping wood was far more productive than head-butting trees.

That may have been common knowledge to most creatures, but it took Brand finding out the hard way that horns and trees don’t go together, and an extra day sulking, before he thought of trying manual labor instead.

He swung the axe overhead and struck, splitting the gigantic stump in front of him. Reset. Swing. Split. Over and over.

Sweat dripped from his forehead, his chest, muscles bunching and burning with the repetitive effort. It was mindless. Perfectly instinctive. Hard work that left no room for anything else, lest he injure himself by getting distracted.

Ironic, considering he purposely caused himself personal injury because he had the arse-brained idea to literally knock some sense into himself.

Sometimes, the Greater was a fucking idiot.

Brand started realizing it within the last day, or so. For all the faith he put in that half of his person, the rage didn’t really allow him to think things through. He just did them, despite anything else. The cockiness was rather off-putting when he thought about it.

Honestly, how many times had he been lumbering around, looking down on everyone and demanding shite?

“Explain,” he grunted, still swinging as he mimicked the rumbling tone of the Greater. “Explain. Explain.”

Nothing else. Just two fucking syllables, as if that was ever good enough. Ever polite.

“Burning Solyrian, what an arsehole.”

Especially towards Luna.

Brand chucked the latest batch of cut logs onto the heap against the garden fence. It was getting unruly, the pile a chaotic mess. Just like his damned head.

At least he could sort the wood.

Not as constant or mindless as the chopping, though. Unfortunately.

Memories of his childhood rose up. The times he’d lost his shite on all of Argoph, his episodes making everyone as confused as he had been. Miserable. And for good reason, too. Hand to the Sisters, Alwyn and Fionerys had been as wonderful as any parents could possibly be. His brothers tried their hardest. His Masters did their best to keep him focused during their lessons.

None of it mattered, and he saw why all the clearer now.

The day Magnus celebrated his parting feast, sitting in Argoph’s banquet hall before all and sundry, he’d had red-rimmed eyes, purple smudges beneath them. Brand didn’t notice it then, too upset by how quiet and aloof his brother was being, thinking Mag was distancing himself on purpose. That he’d been happy to abandon Brand.

He’d withheld physical affection from most of his brothers, but especially Vann, who purposely excluded Brand at every turn. Who refused to disclose necessary information in their political dealings. Until his appearance in Straelon a couple months ago, Brand hadn’t embraced Vann in literal years, thinking his shrewd and secretive brother neither wanted nor deserved it.

Most of the time he was in Amun’s presence, Brand was agitated, assuming his oldest brother was constantly judging him. That Amunkar aht Bordoroth, Imperial Heir Apparent, found Brand wanting. Lacking. That there was no such thing as ever pleasing the First Son, so why bother?

Araxis avoided the worst of it, but they still weren’t close because Brand distanced him by accident and he fucking forgot about it.

His younger brother spent years trying to follow him every time he mindlessly escaped to his spot on the Montriver. Araxis was aloof because Brand threatened him with all sorts of horrid shite to keep him away. Because Brand purposely hurt his feelings, over and over. Because Brand hadn’t known how else to handle the sharp spike of panic that shot through his gut every time he looked into his little brother’s eyes, knowing to his terrified bones that Araxis would be in danger too if he came.

It was no excuse, but he hadn’t known then that he was forgetting his abuser within minutes of seeing her. That all he was going on were feelings beyond his adolescent understanding, her shadows already making a home inside him with every glancing touch.

Now, Brand heard the words and assumptions he’d thought were his own in Okthana’s voice, thoroughly convincing him his family didn’t give a shite. He saw in those recollections all the ways she twisted him and his thinking, so it extended into his later years and adult relationships. He felt the early episodes starting in direct correlation with her first few appearances.

His brothers had never let him down. Not even that first day Amun yelled at him. His mother’s face was so clear now. His brother’s heartbreak. The flower Brand shattered was…monumental for them.

Sure. Maybe Amun was a bit harsh, and maybe his mother was too shocked to be her usual, wildly protective self, but they hadn’t done anything wrong to him. Amun hadn’t said anything that wasn’t true. And, thinking about it, things went back to normal almost immediately as far as the rest of them were concerned. The first thing Amun did the next morning was bring Brand his usual offering of Arrajnekkatti sweets and pastries, before offering him a secret ride on Nakarat.

He’d forgotten about that. The wind in his hair and horns. The Great Plateau shrinking beneath them. Nakarat’s rasping chuckles as he spun in full loops, trying to scare Brand with little success. The freedom and fun, his oldest brother holding on tight as he apologized in his own way.

Brand flopped down onto the half-stacked pile of wood and found himself staring—again—into the forest.

It didn’t matter what events led up to the beginning of his conditioning—the only creature at fault was Okthana. Not his family. Not even him.