Unlike Berengar, Octavius had been avoiding. He’d been avoiding everyone and everything that he could. The reality of what had transpired due to his existence was crushing. Octavius wasn’t a guy who killed his comrades, much less hurt his friends. He saw the way people eyed him as he passed. Of course, they all knew he could do nothing about controlling his werewolf form…and yet why was there fear in their eyes? Why was there shame in his?

He’d been keeping his head down of late. At the sound of his name it snapped up.

Octavius didn’t know what to say. He nodded mutely.

When Wulfbrand didn’t run away or yell at him, Ber’s first thought was that that seemed promising. Ber and the other soldier had never been friends, per se, but he thought highly of someone who would volunteer to clean up someone else’s shit in the middle of the night and had hoped the opinion would be shared. After the ball, though, he wasn’t sure where he stood in the drill instructor’s eyes.

On second glance, however, as they made their way to the side of the walkway, he thought Wulfbrand looked like a shade of himself. Well. Ber didn’t know how to fix that. He had something else he wanted to tell the other man anyway.

“Uh, so, Winters talked to me. She seemed to think I would blame you for what happened,” Ber began, genuine but a little awkward. “I just wanted to say I don’t think it’s your fault.” A brief pause. “And for what it’s worth, I don’t think anyone else should either. That’s all.”

Octavius hadn’t been talking as much of late. If he had, he might have come up with some witty joke to take them back to the midnight cleaning adventure. But humor didn’t have a place in the young man’s heart these days. Whatever smiles he did muster were shallow at best.

The soldier fixed a hollow gaze on Stormcrest as the young man absolved him of guilt. He should have felt good about the generosity, but someone was dead on account of him.

Octavius’ gaze dropped as the other soldier finished, and he nodded his head.

“Thank you.” And what more was there to say? His eyes rose hesitantly though his lips remained pressed together, decidedly finished with speaking.

Ber hadn’t known Wulfbrand particularly well, but even he could see that the man standing in front of him was very different than the one with whom he’d cleaned the barracks. Something was missing - or perhaps had been lost entirely. The drill instructor accepted his absolution with a nod and quiet words of gratitude, and that seemed to be that.

Ber paused a moment, awkward. He didn’t do comfort. “Look,” He said finally. “Shit happens, right? She could’ve decided to turn me instead, and I’d be standing where you are.” Who knew how he would have reacted if he were in Wulfbrand’s position? “You were just the unlucky one she saw first.” With Brekker dead, they’d never know why she had chosen Wulfbrand, but in the absence of any possible explanation, he had decided that it was one of the worst examples of being in the wrong place at the wrong time.

With his genuine but somewhat uninspiring words of wisdom shared, Ber nodded and paused. If Wulfbrand didn’t seem inclined to say anything further, the soldier would take a step back, offer a “Well, see you around,” and turn to leave.