[ One doesn't need to be part of a war to know the terror of it. Perhaps that knowledge, that understanding is reserved for the witty, the intelligent, for Athena and himself only, the ones who could think outside their comfortable box. Never inclined towards fighting himself, he can imagine all too clearly the wrath of his blood at arms.

He can imagine that wrath turned upon his own being with a clarity that adds swiftness to those wings flapping with all their might at his feet.

When one of those hard working digits is so suddenly pinned to the glacier, the shock of it causes feathers to jump and scatter, falling singed against the ice. He almost falls himself, being jerked back in spite of his need to move forward. Two feet back on that massive heap of ice that he fears might be his final resting place, he stares over the edge. Of all the possibilities, of all the things he could do, only one option seems in his favor.

It's all in or fold, and he never folds.

Turning around with his hands up, evident that he has no tricks up his sleeve, only genuine fear in his eyes, he can't even muster half of a smile. This is it, isn't it? ]

Hey, I wouldn't bet on me either, and you know I don't put my coin on a lame horse.

[ The words come out as a meager attempt to ease the tension, and he licks his lips before continuing, without nearly enough of a pause for the joke to land. ]

I didn't do it. I swear, I had nothing to do with any of this.