What Hurts The Most

Part of him felt like he could stay here forever, rooted to his spot in front of the lake, never to move again, simply to allow himself to waste away until he too finally rejoined the earth as well. He should've have been as torn up as he was. He barely even knew the old man for pete's sake, and yet the young man couldn't help but feel torn apart. All of Valhalla would be thrown into mourning with the passing of his grandfather, but the Adravendi would not be there for it. He couldn't take it. He just couldn't. With the death of his grandfather, it was too easy for him to picture it being Collision instead of Cairo. His father...he had to spend more time with his old man. Collision was beginning to climb up in age. He wasn't exactly at the point of turning senile, he was from that, but the years were beginning to catch up with his dad. He was no longer the alpha of Valhalla, so Gael was sure he had plenty of time on his paws for him to spend time with his children. And the young man would take advantage of that time, trying to spend as much as he could with his father, learning, talking, teaching, before the earth decided to claim his father as well.


The sound of the rain and thunder, mixed in with the cracks of lighting made it nearly impossible to hear anything except for that. Not that he was concerned with having to listen to anything at the moment. He didn't expect anyone to come looking for him; they had all been to busy with taking in Cairo's dead body. Nobody had noticed him slip away from the gathering. No one knew he was out here all alone in the middle of a storm, the wind howling its protest at the events of the night, buffeting his large frame yet bringing no reaction from the man. He was completely defenseless, choosing to ignore the world around him, leaving himself vulnerable to attack. But that didn't matter to him. If anyone came with the attempt to harm him, his grandfather wouldn't be the only one departing from the world that night.


And then there was someone standing in front of him, his muzzle brushing the other wolf's chest. It was so wet that was it was practically impossible for him to catch any kind of scent, and despite being so close to the second wolf, all he could smell was wet fur, no distinctive perfume that would tell him who it was. But he didn't need a scent, the voice said it all. Meili. Where had she come from? He didn't care. She was here, resting her head atop his shoulders, her presence acting like a soothing balm to him. He would've turned away to hide the continuous flow of tears that hadn't stopped since he'd come across his grandfather, but the rain was good enough camouflage that she would never see him cry. At least that's what he was hoping. Meili... he rumbled, his voice barely above a whisper as he curled his chin around her shoulders, pulling her close to him, holding her against him. He didn't know how she had found him or why she was here, but he was glad.


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