I am the broken one

The heat meant little to him now, and he would have followed the ghost of his mother to the end of the worlds, he would have walked until his paws where bloody and his legs unyielding, until the next step would be his last. If there was a point to the path she took, or an end to their journey, he did not know it. He had found quickly that looking his mother full on weakened her hold on the world, or frightened her from it altogether. He looked at her only with brief glances from the corner of his eyes, enough to see her long legs beside him, a hint of silver now and then that brightened his vision.

All he wanted was to turn and look her full on, to see her long, lithe legs and shaggy coat that seemed more like moonlight then any mortal shade. What if he forgot the way she looked? She had not spoken to him since her death, and he was more afraid that he would forget the sound of her voice. What if he could not linger recal the way she had laughed? There was no sound more appealing in the world then her laughter. She had sounded like bird song, brilliant and wild, and free. He would give all of his soul to hear that sound again.

He did everything right. He didnt look ar her, he did not speak, he kept his head down and followed the path she took, and still she left him. He felt it at the same moment he saw it, like a sharp thorn through his heart as she dissipated as easily at the fine sands beneath their paws, as though her coming and going was no less consequential as a puff of breath along the surface. The next moment, there was the sound of paw steps heavy on the earth, the sound of heavy breathing as this being raced towards him.

He was cast in the shade of their shadow, and a voice assaulted his ears. At first his heart cried with longing as he spoke without a rich accent, something more familiar to ears aching familiarity. Second, he felt fear, through this man did not speak a in slow drawl like the monster of his nightmares. He panted softly, caught between emotions. It was a while before he recognized the question the other had asked, and then he flinched. How could he answer such a question? Nothing would ever be alright again. Besides, he knew better then to speak, the shade of his mother did not like it, she spoked easily to anything too real and substantial.