Ever since he’d set foot on this wretched planet, Kur-gal had been on edge. The easier, simpler explanation was that the negotiations were important, and that neither he nor [member="Khallesh"] were exactly qualified for this sort of thing. But the true reason lurked far beneath the surface, dark, infectious, and pervasive. Doubt.
The Dragon was afraid.
Afraid of all contact with Yuuzhan Vong that had accepted a different way of life. It was pathetic, pitiful, and yet so damnably true. He, a Slayer, a veteran of the bloody and vicious war between the Sith and the Republic, was scared chitless.
There were others like him, it meant. Others whose faith wavered and withered away like a wounded beast. He wanted to believe, oh, how he prayed and begged for that burning flame of faith. But there was nothing left but dying embers, growing colder with every passing month. The slow decay of the Yun’Do fleet did nothing to allay his fears. Why didn’t the Yun’O come and show them the way? How could they leave them to flounder in the darkness of space? How dared they?!
Kur-gal bared his teeth when the sermon began, averting his raging gaze from the Priest. He felt the wounds on his palms reopen again and forced his fists to unclench. It took all he had left to give, all he had left of his crumbling restraint.
His anger didn’t go unnoticed. Welk leveled him with a curious gaze, then turned back to the main delegation. The prayer was finished and the chamber fell quiet again.
“Well… now that’s done with, shall we attend to the matter at hand?” His lips twitched in an expression that Kur-gal deduced was supposed to be a smile. “We would hate to keep you here. Certainly you have important tasks awaiting your attention.”
His discomfort was as obvious as it was disgusting.