Hate Me

Lykos had not known the meaning of fearful apprehension until that very moment. He eyed his mother, starting to feel that whisper of fear and dread that made him not want to be there at all. It wasn’t until she spoke, her voice cold and hard that his ears flattened completely, and he struggled to keep full control of his composure. It was slipping, though, and his entire face showed the intense worry he felt. “No, it’s not,” he argued. How could she say such a thing? It clearly wasn’t! She’d have a hard time moving the shoulder, probably, if it wasn’t healed… and there was so much blood; that amount of blood could not be okay.

The silence was starting to get to him, and he took a deep breath, letting it out slowly as he tried to let an iron shell encase his mind. Where was that control he was so fond of? Slipping away, but in the face of his gravely wounded mother it was hard to think anything else would happen. Still, he was worried. What happened? Who did that? Did he even want to know who did that? What was wrong the other way? Why had she called for him, instead of going straight to a healer? Even if it was Vereux. At this point, he didn’t give a damn, so long as someone healed his mother. The amount of blood was alarming - he really, really, really didn’t want to see his mother die, or be crippled because of… whatever she was confronting him with.

That too made him slightly annoyed - why the fuck was she here? What could be so important that she would neglect herself in such a manner? It was utterly unlike her to ignore a wound like that; it was utterly illogical as well, because she was hurting herself more the longer she took to get it fixed. He couldn’t imagine the amount of pain that must have; thinking about it made him unconsciously flex his own shoulder.

When she finally spoke, nearly growling, he had to fight the urge to fold his ears back, and it partially failed, his ears folding about halfway. That made fear and apprehension return. Was it… Mercy who did that? Their scents mingled not too far from the border, and it was fairly recent. That was the only thing that made sense… but he pushed it away, not wanting to face that, wanting to deny it. “Yes.” He said nothing more, not because he didn’t want to, but because he didn’t know what to say. That he hated the fact that she did that? That he was torn between being angry and not? That he would have had no idea what to do had he found her first? What was the point in saying any of that? That he had no earthly idea as to why she called him to tell him this? That he had no idea what she was trying to get at? What was the point in saying any of that? No, he’d not say anything more, and would just wait for the details that were sure to come.


"Speech" | Think