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♫i think of the way you think, it keeps me from falling asleep♫

Scrape. Scrape.
Rhythmically he rolled the stone under his paw, his mind drifting to places he did not, or did not want to control. Don’t compare my loss to yours. What loss did he have? Within the Tomb’s eyes, he had lost everything. His mother, his father, two siblings who had had only heard whispers about.
He heard they looked a lot like him.
The den was empty, now, though; without Stahl to rest with in the daytime, he had begun to sprawl across the floor. Between waiting at Rimerot Bend for wolves who felt like they would no longer reappear, and patrolling the borders for any signs of the party that the Omen had taken out, he could not but hope wistfully that they would be back soon.
Scrape. Scrape.
And how selfish was that, that he wanted his family back so soon?
Was this the loss he was told so fervently about? If so, why did it feel so hollow and so insincere? Did he just miss his packmates for the extra chores he had taken on?
He had only just allowed his shoulder wound to close again, and yet it throbbed with every roll of the stone.
Scrape. Scrape.
A reminder of the summit, of what the Omen had asked of him, and yet he felt incomplete. He had spent his time making sure others didn’t feel as empty as he. He longed for comfort he could not put into words, words he dare not vocalize in fear of being selfish.
But his actions were selfish, were they not? Asking others to open up to him while he offered platitudes and meaningless words in return when the favor was returned. He thought the hole in his chest was filled by others’ words, by others’ experiences, feelings.
He thought he was needed, was wanted, and he clung to that feeling so desperately he wasn’t sure where he began, and where the stories he collected stopped.
Scrape. Scrape.
And oh, oh, how badly did he want to scream it out; but with the stress of others, especially Tesleen, he felt more and more that his problems were so small, so little in comparison. So what if he used trees as tackling practice to let out steam? It wasn’t like Basil or Jayana had time for duels, and he adamantly refused to interact with Beryl if he could help it.
–But Beryl, there was a name that came with such a bitter taste it always surprised him. He wasn’t sure when the discomfort turned to anger. Nor was he willing to admit that the anger was slowly melting into hate.
Who was he to hate anyone?
Scrape. Scrape.
Well, he supposed, hatred to others must come easy to one who hates himself more.
To unseeing and unfocused eyes, the sun began to set once more, bathing the den in a distant and soft glow.
In a few minutes, he would stretch, and yawn, and act like he’d slept all night.
But for now, he let his mind continue adrift as he stared at nothing and thought about everything.

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Description

♫i think of the way you think, it keeps me from falling asleep♫

Scrape. Scrape.
Rhythmically he rolled the stone under his paw, his mind drifting to places he did not, or did not want to control. Don’t compare my loss to yours. What loss did he have? Within the Tomb’s eyes, he had lost everything. His mother, his father, two siblings who had had only heard whispers about.
He heard they looked a lot like him.
The den was empty, now, though; without Stahl to rest with in the daytime, he had begun to sprawl across the floor. Between waiting at Rimerot Bend for wolves who felt like they would no longer reappear, and patrolling the borders for any signs of the party that the Omen had taken out, he could not but hope wistfully that they would be back soon.
Scrape. Scrape.
And how selfish was that, that he wanted his family back so soon?
Was this the loss he was told so fervently about? If so, why did it feel so hollow and so insincere? Did he just miss his packmates for the extra chores he had taken on?
He had only just allowed his shoulder wound to close again, and yet it throbbed with every roll of the stone.
Scrape. Scrape.
A reminder of the summit, of what the Omen had asked of him, and yet he felt incomplete. He had spent his time making sure others didn’t feel as empty as he. He longed for comfort he could not put into words, words he dare not vocalize in fear of being selfish.
But his actions were selfish, were they not? Asking others to open up to him while he offered platitudes and meaningless words in return when the favor was returned. He thought the hole in his chest was filled by others’ words, by others’ experiences, feelings.
He thought he was needed, was wanted, and he clung to that feeling so desperately he wasn’t sure where he began, and where the stories he collected stopped.
Scrape. Scrape.
And oh, oh, how badly did he want to scream it out; but with the stress of others, especially Tesleen, he felt more and more that his problems were so small, so little in comparison. So what if he used trees as tackling practice to let out steam? It wasn’t like Basil or Jayana had time for duels, and he adamantly refused to interact with Beryl if he could help it.
–But Beryl, there was a name that came with such a bitter taste it always surprised him. He wasn’t sure when the discomfort turned to anger. Nor was he willing to admit that the anger was slowly melting into hate.
Who was he to hate anyone?
Scrape. Scrape.
Well, he supposed, hatred to others must come easy to one who hates himself more.
To unseeing and unfocused eyes, the sun began to set once more, bathing the den in a distant and soft glow.
In a few minutes, he would stretch, and yawn, and act like he’d slept all night.
But for now, he let his mind continue adrift as he stared at nothing and thought about everything.

Featuring: