Craven listened to the sounds of battle, head down. While the others fought the bad guys, he fought with himself. He felt something inside, and was doing his best not to let the word surface.
But with how thin the walls of his hiding place was, there was only so much he could take.
Scared.
Craven was scared.
No. I’m not.
But he was. How ever much he didn’t think it or say it aloud, he was. He had failed. Lived up to his name when he promised he wouldn’t. Craven had told himself he would fight, like his new friends. Show them he was no coward, that he could live up to what they were. But he had failed.
Craven cried.
After the sounds stopped, Craven uncurled from the ball he had rolled into and took his hands out of his ears. He dried his face, rubbing his eyes and sniffling. Making himself presentable.
He heard talking outside, and it sounded calm. Craven wanted calm.
He put a smile on his face, one that was forced. They wouldn’t tell, he told himself.
They would. He hadn’t yet figured out how to conceal his emotions; he was young.
He walked over, slow at first but quicker when he remembered to appear normal. Craven stopped next to Fadran. “Did we win?”