Whether or not Rowena's thoughts were unhealthy was not something that Godric thought or even cared to consider, for his own were much the same, if not a bit more violent. It had been years since his temper had flared up like it did earlier tonight, and deep down, he knew that if Helena had not been there to stop him, blood would have been spilled, and it would not have been his own. No, it was only for Helena's sake that he had found the willpower to control himself, shaky though that willpower was.
That feeble control over his anger was what made him come outside tonight. The feel of the wind and the scent of the outdoors helped somewhat to keep him calm. He focused on what Rowena was saying, though her thoughts did not help to quell his heart. "Would that I had found him first." he spat derisively. He spun the dagger again and again, itching for some kind of physical release. "I'd like to—" he concentrated for a second, then with a flick of his wrist, sent the dagger flying into a nearby wooden post. "—straight into the heart."
No, his mental state right now was not necessarily healthy either — but to use modern slang, he thought, 'fuck that.' He stood. "No longer can I sit here and stare into the night like that will change something," he said, stepping forward some paces then turning back to face Rowena. "Come. Duel me. Transfigure something to look like him, and shoot it through with arrows aflame."