Note

This fanfic is OLD. It is not my top form, but is among the few "completed" chapter fics I've written. Enjoy.

Judgement Day

by Luna Manar

The Felony

"It's our nature…there is no real reason."

"Dragons?"

Staring steadfastly into the distance where the scratchy, guttural roars had allegedly originated, Squall waited in silence for a few moments before nodding once in answer to Rinoa's question. "Sounded like it."

Rinoa clung to him briefly. She didn't like dragons, and the sound of one was almost worse than the sight. "That wasn't in the direction of the Gardens…was it?"

"I can't tell. It was too far away." Squall squeezed her shoulder in brief reassurance, started toward the edge of the wooded plateau, hoping he might see far enough to spot the two behemoth bases of SeeD that hovered on the outskirts of Esthar's borders. Rinoa followed close behind, though she'd composed herself by now and no longer cowered next to him. The view wasn't helpful; other, much taller forested plateaus blocked the sight of the Gardens and the dragon ships that guarded them. The gentle morning sun and twittering of numerous birds did little to ease Squall's conscience. "We should go back."

Rinoa's brow knitted in skepticism. "Are you sure? They could just be wild ones."

Squall made a vague jerking motion with his arm. "That's the third time we've heard them in two hours, and those are rubies. They don't live wild around here. I don't like it." He didn't add that Galbadia always seemed to launch an attack every time he left the area. Twice already, Rinoa and Squall had tried to complete this personal mission; twice, they'd returned on Squall's premonitions to find the Gardens fighting another skirmish with the Galbadians.

Not for the first time, Rinoa reflected on the foolishness of the war itself. Ultimecia had been defeated. There was no more sorceress threat; Rinoa certainly wished no one harm! But still the Galbadians pursued their relentless suit of vengeance against Esthar. They were no longer proclaiming their saviorship of the world via absolute unity (peace through world domination), rather they sang their own hero's song about saving the world from Esthar's oppression (peace through superior firepower).Their claim was that Esthar was a danger to the world, with its xenophobic history and reclusive ways. No one believed their public harping, save for themselves, and though Esthar, technologically, had little to fear from Galbadia, it still caused a diplomatic and economic problem for the country, which, under President Laguna's tutelage, had by a wide majority voted to pursue trade relations with the rest of the world—including Galbadia, if they would have it.

But no—no trade, just war. Rinoa frowned in irritation. So senseless… Why did Galbadia continue to make a nuisance of itself?

"We can't just keep turning back every time you get a bad feeling about what's going on down there. This is the third time."

"I haven't been wrong about it yet." Squall narrowed his eyes as he said this, as though he could see through the great cliffs if he tried hard enough.

"Squall, Esthar's got Garden and SeeD to protect it. They can take care of themselves." Rinoa looked sullen for a moment, but said nothing else. She wanted to believe that the Gardens were safe, and knew even if they were not, they were certainly able to hold their own. But she knew better than to continue arguing with Squall's almost infallible danger-sense. Somehow—whether it could be considered a gift or a curse was not clear—he always seemed to know when something wasn't right. "It's going to take us just as long to get back," she muttered blankly. It wasn't an argument, merely a statement of the obvious made in both frustration and disappointment.

For the first time in the past few minutes, Squall averted his eyes from the brightening horizon and focused them on what he considered far more beautiful. The hardened expression faltered a little at her look of dismay. "I'm sorry…I know this whole thing keeps getting screwed up."

"Squall…I'm afraid they know…when you're there and when you're not." She watched him as he started walking along the edge of the cliff, searching for a passable way down. "The second you show up, they'll be on you again."

The SeeD's boot tested the stability of a rather steep, but negotiable incline. "Yeah…" His voice held a snarling edge; clearly the truth of her warning frustrated him. "I know." Carefully, he tried his balance on the steep hill. "I'm sure they'd love to get me out of their way permanently." Steadying himself, he put a hand on his hip and glanced behind him at Rinoa.

She shook her head and amended quietly, a hint of fear tracing her eyes. "Or to get their hands on you."

"Galbadia hasn't caught me yet. If I have anything to do with it, it's gonna stay that way." He blinked deliberately, watching her watch him. When at last he spoke again, it was with the grim resolution characteristic of him. "I can't just keep walking in the other direction when I know something's happened." You know that… "It's my responsibility…" More quietly, "You know my first loyalty is to you…but I do have one to Garden, too. If you tell me to ignore it and keep going…I will. But I don't think you'd do that." He added after a pause, "Am I right?"

"…Yes." Rinoa hung her head a little. Apprehensively, she clasped her hands together behind her, toyed at the grass with the toe of her shoe. "I wish we could do something to stop this whole thing…this stupid war that everyone keeps saying isn't a war. If people are fighting and dying, then it's a war. I just hate it."

Stepping up onto the flat of the plateau once more, Squall took her right hand in his left, gently tilted her chin up with the other so he could look her in the eyes. "You're not the only one." And truly, if it could be done right there and then, Squall would have given almost anything to silence the guns and shouts and screams that seemed a recurrent, if intermittent reality between SeeD and Galbadia. As much as he had lived for battle, he did not want to exist for it. War was not what the Gardens or SeeD stood for. Still, he could not ignore them when and where he was needed. "At least we made it through the night, this time.." He brushed back a strand of black hair from her eyes. "A war can't last forever." He managed a solemn smile.

"I just wish I understood—" She tilted her cheek into his hand, "—what they really want in the first place…right now there doesn't even seem to be a reason…it's just senseless."

"We'll think of something…" It was the only response Squall could give her, lacking any true words of comfort. His voice quieted, "Standing here worrying about it isn't helping." He seemed almost apologetic. "We have to go."

"What happens if there's fighting when we get there? You don't have any weapon…except magic, but…you know."

This brought a brief smile from his taut lips he pointed at her meaningfully. "Don't underestimate me." I didn't train my whole life at Garden for nothing. "Besides, you'll be with me. We'll be fine." It was true the two were safest when they were together. Though it was clear Squall was certainly no master of magic as Rinoa was, nor was he a mere novice, and—magic or no—time and again he'd proven himself quite deadly even without his trademark gunblade. Though this by no means made him immortal, he'd managed to appear that way on more than one occasion. It was a combination of skill, determination and luck—a concept Squall stubbornly denied. The same went for Rinoa. And Zell, Quistis, Matron, he'd reminded himself time and again. All of us…

Galbadia knew this. They knew who had killed Ultimecia. It was part of their vengeance claim that the leaders of SeeD be handed over for execution. No such luck, of course. Plus, they couldn't kill him. Not now…

And what neither Garden nor Galbadia knew, for now, wouldn't hurt them.

Squall and Rinoa had come to this place—a single cliff called Soul's Frontier—twice before. Once, to find it. The second time, they had turned back when Galbadia's Navy had launched an assault on the border. This time, they had stayed, for a full night, and the ritual had been completed, the irreversible connections set and locked. Their souls were joined, and they were stronger…

Stronger, and ready to fight once more as a team.

Only recently had Rinoa agreed to use her powers to help fight Galbadia. Still, she refused to resort to attacking anything or anyone, unless she had to, and focused mostly on defending SeeD's own fighters—most importantly Squall. Always, she kept a distance, never actually ventured onto the field, and had done her part from one of many hidden vantage points of Balamb Garden. So far, she had harmed no one. So far.

Only recently had she shown any willingness to use her magic and Guardians to any such destructive ends. Only recently had it become obvious what a powerful force she and Squall together had the potential to be.

All this power only frightened her. She wasn't sure she wanted it, but didn't see that she had much choice. Then again, if she hadn't retained so many of Ultimecia's powers, she and Squall could not have accomplished the intimate link they had—that only they knew about. It was a strength they both now shared. And, as Cid had pointed out to her months ago (how ironic, since he had not known), better the unwilling to possess such wonderful, dangerous and deadly power than the uncaring, who would fail to use it wisely.

Yet, despite all these uncertainties, Rinoa could not help agreeing, "True…it isn't likely for us to get 'caught,' is it?" She smiled a little.

His answer was a brief, but strong embrace, and thoughts shared between them in the space of moments served to reassure them. Squall turned back to the steep ledge. "It's steep. I can make it down without falling…you think you can? If you don't want to we can go back around the way we came." He augmented his words with a demonstrative sweep of his arm in the direction of the forest they had picked through in order to get to the ledge they now stood on. "This way's more direct, though." He let his arm down, thoughtfully put that hand on his hip and looked down in the direction of the incline once more.

"I can make it if you help me, I'm sure."

You know I will.

A horrible sound echoed though the wind, prompting them to turn their attention swiftly to the horizon they had been watching moments ago. At first, both thought the sound to be a great explosion. Realization struck home that it was a bestial roar.

Squall's eyes narrowed. He didn't recognize the sound, though it had a familiar edge to it. "Someone's Guardian Force?" He and Rinoa glanced at each other, not needing any magical bond to understand the circumstances. If SeeD was in enough trouble to have implement the use of Guardians, it was all the more reason to return as fast as was possible. They heard another roar from the same creature.

Wordlessly, they wasted no more time in making a hurried, if stumbling journey down the steep hill. Loose dirt and rocks nearly made Rinoa's feet slip out from under her twice, and the third time she slipped, she slid painfully down a ways before Squall caught her and hauled her back to her feet. Twice this was repeated before the bottom of the incline was actually reached. By that time, Rinoa had sufficiently dirtied the back of her outfit, sustained a number of scrapes and bruises. She'd slid the last six feet to the ground, and picked herself up, brushing her soft blue arm wraps off as best she could.

Squall followed close behind her, sliding skillfully to the ground, uninjured and relatively un-dusty.

Clasping her hands behind her back, Rinoa cast him a playful scowl, watching him jump easily to the base of the hill. "Sometimes you make me sick, you know that?"

He didn't smile, but she felt his mood brighten a little. "Can't say I haven't been punished for it." He rubbed at his left wrist, where Rinoa had suffered a rough scrape. "I'm gonna have to teach you a few things for my sake." He looked over his shoulder at her. "Like how to keep your balance." He chose the direction in which he'd seen an animal trail from above, started walking.

There was another distant boom, clearly an explosion this time. Rinoa caught up with him. They both picked up the pace to a near-run, pushing through the wiry foliage, in the process getting dusted with early spring pollen from the many conifer trees whose branches they had to disturb in order to press on. Though it hardly seemed to bother Squall, the rain of pollen annoyed his less agile companion. "What is happening over there?" She was busy brushing the bright yellow stuff from her hair, all the while trying to keep up, while Squall answered.

"It sounds like they're—" He vaulted himself over a fallen tree, "—blowing up a lot of stuff."

Rinoa rolled her eyes and scrabbled over the dead tree. "I could have told you that." She knew what he meant, though: He didn't know any more than she did what was going on at the border. They'd have to get there to see.

Unfortunately, even at their rigorous pace, they were yet a day's travel from their home.

The horrid noises of battle boomed on into the night, and ceased only as Squall and Rinoa stopped, exhausted, allowing them rest in an eerie silence. No night birds sang, no insects whirred or chirped. The quiet was no less unsettling than the noise had been.

They had to stop, for Rinoa was beyond herself with exhaustion. Squall, too, was tired, and though he churned from within from an urgent need to keep moving, he would not ask Rinoa to go any further. He decided to listen to the tired part of his brain and told the nagging end to shove it.

They found a small clearing, graced on one end by the base of a half-uprooted tree. The hollow beneath it served for a haggard place to stay, but Squall seemed comfortable enough with sitting up against the wall of the hollow. Being partial to more hospitable places, Rinoa managed to make a nice enough pillow of Squall's shoulder, a blanket of his arm. The image may have been romantic, but sleep would be wakeful and uneasy. They both worried at the uncomfortable silence that surrounded them. Sometime in the middle of that uncertain darkness, a single night bird warbled a mournful song that fell on deaf, sleeping ears.

"We're getting close…"

Rinoa's comment was unnecessary; the fighting had started again that morning, and was growing louder and clearer with every few yards. It was not the noise that had awakened them, however. The ugly stench of heavy smoke had caused Squall to shiver awake and shake his head to clear his senses. Only minutes later he and Rinoa were on the move again. It was nearly midday now beneath heavy clouds, the scent of rain on a foreshadowing breeze that grew in intensity every minute promised a spring storm within the hour.

We should be able to see it after this hill. Squall's face was stone, and Rinoa sensed him bracing himself for whatever terrible sight might greet him once he topped the tall hill he'd already started climbing. She started after him.

Rinoa frowned. Squall was scared. It was fear, now, more than need for efficiency, that drove him nimbly to the top of the hill. She had hardly started the climb when he'd scaled the bank completely, and watched him disappear over the top. Only a second later she felt his heart sink, and her own spirit recoiled in terrible anguish. She whimpered a little, but forced herself to her senses, and hurried, trembling to join him and see what had happened.

When she reached the top, at first all she saw was Squall standing at the edge of another steep incline, looking out over some spectacle. The wind blew his hair like the remnants of a dark, torn war banner, shredded into short wisps and ribbons at the base by the claws of despair. Then she looked beyond him, and knew the source of his shock.

The area was indeed a battlefield, worse than had been seen in any of the skirmishes and squabbles that had taxed both sides in the recent past. Even from their high vantage, blood was visible on the ground, and certainly not all of it belonged to the Galbadians. The mangled corpse of one ruby dragon, no doubt that they'd heard only the previous day, lay to the side of the battle. Judging by the trail of black blood, it had either been dragged out of the way by the Galbadians or had hauled itself there to die, away from the noise. Many fighters lay in similar fashions both on and away from the field, where a war still raged. No side seemed to be winning, but the toll was horrible all the same. Worst of all was what had shocked Squall to his core, and now sent him sinking slowly to a crouch, supporting himself from falling to his knees with one hand against the ground. It was a motion Rinoa almost copied when she felt his dizziness, brought on by his grief.

Galbadia Garden, largest of the Gardens, lay tilted on its side, the left edge of the great construction's anti-gravity halo driven like a bent and crooked buzz saw into the muddy ground. The entire side of the Garden was charred black from the wrath of an oil-fed fire. Huge pieces of debris littered the surrounding area—the Garden had put up a fight before falling, and had struck the ground in many places, effectively tearing itself to pieces until it could stay airborne no longer. The lighting in the stronghold had vanished; it appeared dead. Save for a few SeeDs and Estharian soldiers protecting it, it seemed abandoned completely. So where were its inhabitants?

The only facial indication of Squall's sadness and disbelief was his slightly open mouth. Torrents of emotions and thoughts suddenly assaulted his mind, and Rinoa almost put her hands to her ears at the intensity of them, as though they were screaming all around her. What have I done? Nothing. So what's happened? Galbadia Garden is destroyed, I didn't get back here fast enough. Maybe we shouldn't have left in the first place—but how could we have known? Where's Cid? Damn, he probably wonders where the hell I've been!. If he's alive. No, he has to be. What can I do? Where's Zell? Where's Quistis? I can't see them out there. I could take full responsibility for this. I wasn't here when I should have been. Goddamn it, this could cost me my job—and at what price? How many people that I know have died already? Could I have done anything? Can't think about it now. Right now, I have to do something. I have to stop this before it gets any worse! He glanced at Rinoa as he stood, realized she'd heard everything that had passed through his mind, and nodded just slightly before taking off down the steep side of the hill.

She started to go after him but thought better of it, stopped herself just before she heard his thoughts in her mind.

Eyes on Me, Rinoa.

With a nod of understanding, she knelt on one knee, and watched from her place on the hill. A metallic, vicious shriek echoed across the skies, and thin strings of white lightning crawled along the gathering clouds. The shriek sounded again, but Rinoa didn't look around to see where it came from. It wasn't important. She kept her eyes trained on Squall as he moved swiftly, crouched low and being as stealthy as possible, heading toward the fray. She felt a sudden rise of anger, of absolute, unadulterated rage. It built up within her, and it wasn't her own. This fury was stronger than she'd ever known fury could be, and for a moment she faltered and almost lost sight of Squall. Only half of this feeling was Squall's anger. This hatred bore no prejudice, did not care what it destroyed. It was just angry.

She watched Squall crouch behind a huge slab of fallen debris, watched him close his eyes, and belatedly realized just what it was he was doing. She shivered.

The wind picked up.

There was a power crackling in the air as the storm gathered overhead, and the shrieks—they must have been from the storm itself—caused many to pause in their fighting, some at the expense of their lives. But the battle slowed, and the sky fell into a deathly silence, the wind that had been rising all but stopped.

Recognizing these signs, realizing what was about to happen, the forces of SeeD abruptly retreated, the dragonships backed away, all abandoning the Galbadians on the field. The bewildered soldiers shouted and signaled to one another, not at all understanding this sudden show of fear. For a pompous, self-absorbed moment, the Galbadians believed they had forced SeeD into retreat.

Then the wind began to twist and beat along the ground like the rush of giant wings or the pulse of a planetary heart. The terrible shriek, louder and more heart-shaking than thunder, sounded again from the skies. Galbadians and SeeDs alike stared up into the clouds, the latter party from beneath the shelter of Balamb Garden's spinning rings. The Garden came about, taking up a defensive posture over its precious troops.

Perhaps the Galbadians would have ordered a retreat as well, except they were staring transfixed at the black heavens that began to swirl above them. Thick fingers of lightning collected their energies at a central point, and the sky seemed to boil, the built-up energy broke in all directions as it was speared through the center, shattered amidst the vibrations of another unearthly shriek. The massive beast that had only just pierced the heart of the storm snapped open its armored wings, stopping itself in mid-dive.

The spectacle was so magnificent, the fear it caused so great, most of the Galbadians were too petrified to flee. Those who had sense enough to do so were by no means swift enough in their retreat.

Bahamut hovered where he was, the maelstrom beginning to turn about the land, the sheer power of his presence fueling the spring rain, slowly yet too swiftly transforming it into a hurricane that he didn't care enough to control. The King of Guardians surveyed his targets, made note of those SeeDs and Estharians that were not to be harmed, and searched: for what had given the Galbadians advantage in this fight. Find it, he had been told, and destroy it.

He had felt the fall of many of his brethren. Whatever it was that had caused this devastation, it had disabled Quetzalcoatlus, a lesser Guardian, in a single blast, numerous others in two or three. It had torn apart a gigantic Garden in a matter of minutes. Only one type of weapon had such power, one that he knew had not been used in millennia, not since the Centra. He knew, as well, through the same warrior that had called him, that Galbadia had once had access to Centra technology. A cowardly use for it, if they had implemented it in this surprise assault. The Galbadians had no brains. World domination indeed. Scattered in their confusion, the pitiful imbeciles did not know what they fought for.

So, then, nor would they know what they died for!

Bahamut made his decision. Let the damned fools run. He would deal with them in his own time. He pumped his wings harder, brought himself higher. His jaws opened, the pure energy of destruction began to build, stealing from the storm around him and amassing before his fanged maw. Swiftly, the orb of power became more and more concentrated, and shimmered like a deadly star before the head of the dragon's tensing body. The shrill whine of the force being pulled from all the surrounding matter was deafening. Once the shrieking stopped, there was hardly pause enough to comprehend what was imminent.

Like a finger of God, the beam of light raced downward and struck the ground, the destructive wave following in its wake and spreading throughout the battlefield. The shockwave of the blast tore a crater in the earth, spreading outward in all directions, a widening circle of annihilation.

The dragon was on the move again before his circle of wrath had fully dispersed. He shot like a lance after the fleeing army, miniature versions of the weapon that had obliterated the battlefield raining down with deadly accuracy upon men and weapons. The first machine to be destroyed was the potent energy cannon that rendered the powers of Guardian Forces useless. What a cheap excuse for victory. He would not be struck down by that.

Something shot at him from below, missed him, and the turret did not have time to retrain its aim before Bahamut had swiveled around and dived for the vehicle, pulling up and landing atop it with crushing force. Latching onto the metal with claws that ripped through steel as easily as they would have flesh, he forcibly tore the big gun from its pivot, taking a man with it, dropping them carelessly as he ascended into the sky once again.

The dragon surveyed his work. The Galbadians were in a state of hysteria and fear, their weapons for the mostpart destroyed, their ranks decimated. His fiery green eyes flared and narrowed. The hint of Centra power in the area was gone. His work here was done.

As the hurricane began to twist, Bahamut vanished into the raging storm.

The first person Squall found that he knew well was Xu, and he startled her from behind, though he hadn't meant to, took her by the shoulder and shouted over the howling wind, "Galbadia Garden! Is there anyone still in there?"

Confused for only a moment, Xu collected herself. "Twenty. They're a salvage team—"

"Get them out of there!"

"Why?"

"Just do it!" Squall didn't feel like explaining himself. In case. In case they couldn't stop this storm that Bahamut had created; it would soon be powerful enough to tear the wrecked Garden to pieces. In case anything else went wrong. Whatever. He was angry beyond what he cared to consider. But he wasn't scared. Not anymore.

Without another word, he left the group crowded beneath the Garden Still Standing, heading for the edge of the field, to the edge of Bahamut's swathe of destruction. The rain was beginning to pour, but it came in sideways, sliced like thousands of tiny, cold knives into his skin. He slowed his pace in it and walked through sheet after sheet of water. He began to encounter bodies on the ground, stepped over one, then another, not daring to try and recognize any of them. He reached what he loosely estimated to be the center of this realm of death, numbly glanced around him, though he could see little through the stinging rain. Lightning showed him only how many dead. How many didn't have to die? How many wouldn't have if he had gotten there fast enough? He'd thought of Galbadia as an annoyance, not a serious threat any longer. They were a petty and weak-willed government. How could they have done all this—? It didn't matter. What mattered was it had happened.

Whether he actually lost his strength, or he just let himself do it, he stumbled and nearly crumpled, managing to steady somewhat and lower himself to a crouch, resting his arms across his knees. For a moment, he surveyed the dead rain, and wondered who—if anyone—was really responsible for all this? Galbadia's new ruler was a dimwit. Was it just a terrible stroke of luck?

His head bowed, he closed his eyes. Rain ran in small rivers down his face, fell from his eyes, chin and the lips of his half-open mouth. Panting exhaustion in the torrent of water and grief, he tossed soaking hair out of his face, then forgot about the rain, forgot about the cold, the death, the sorrow. He let his will go, surrendered himself to she who he could only hope might be able to use him to right what had gone wrong. If he could just fix some of it, undo at least something of what had been done…perhaps he could find the heart to figure out just what had really happened here to begin with.

Rinoa…

In this unheard of state of complete and utter submission, the magic of a sorceress took hold, coursed through him, wrapped around him, an invisible blanket of power that would show itself in due time. He felt his own strength, his own power being pulled from him, tilted his head back to stare into nothing through closed eyes. His mind fell back into a trance of an odd sort of serenity, that which would come upon a person who knows nothing more than he is. He was aware, his body breathed, his heart beat, and there was no other requirement of him.

In this reverie of strange ecstasy, Squall was unable to think. It wasn't his place to question. Without words, without voice, without will, in the mud, with the rain roaring unnoticed around him, amidst dead soldiers he didn't know, he was a center point of power for Her, channeling magic he didn't understand, nor did he try to. Yet through this certainty, somewhere in the corner of his mind, the only part remaining that kept him conscious, the only part of him that was aware of what was happening to him and around him, his will remained, dormant, trapped forever in the loving embrace of a sorceress that would hold him for all eternity.

From the heavens came another scream.

No one could say if the heat dried up the storm or if the flames of life had simply banished the rains of death. The tempest turned from black-grey and blue to golden orange and amber, the light reflecting off the bottom of the clouds, red aura turning the water to life-giving blood. The melodious cry that echoed through the chaos beckoned peace. Boundless warmth—not burning heat—drove away ruthless cold. The rain fell still, but in a gentle downpour, straight down from brightening clouds to soothe the ravaged battlefield. Golden orange feathers passed once over the figures of the deceased, the broken. Then the beautiful creature was gone and in her wake, light returned from the darkness of the sky, and from the ground a few heads raised, eyes blinked in confusion. Previously battered bodies picked themselves up, checked themselves in bewilderment for fatal wounds that no longer existed. They stood within a flaming tattoo on the earth, the avian likeness of the elusive Guardian Force that had saved them.

Twenty of nearly one hundred lost got up and walked away from what had been their unfair deaths.

Had they been less hysterical about the fact they'd so escaped fate, had they paid more heed to their surroundings, they might have seen Rinoa fold her wings away and let her hands down from their raised position, might have seen her start her way down the hill. They might have noticed Squall keel over in utter exhaustion, and had they seen him, might have mistaken him for dead, all color drained from his face, breaths so faint they were hardly noticeable. Had they seen Rinoa come to her love, and kneel by him on what was now dry ground, if they'd seen her sit beside him and pull him up enough to cradle him against her shoulder, they wouldn't have thought twice of it. They were too busy walking in an astonished stupor toward Balamb Garden, too absorbed in the fact they were alive to care that the person they thought of as their leader was half-dead. They did not know, so cared nothing that it would take only a day for him to fully recuperate.

They did not care, and so did not notice the crime that had been committed. The thunder receded into the distance.