how far we find ourselves from home
03-02-2019, 10:48 PM
(This post was last modified: 05-26-2019, 05:24 PM by Aiden.)
Home. The word rang through his mind with layers of shock, confusion, numbness. At first, there was elation, but the closer he drew to Abaven's borders, the more he worried. The more he was concerned. The more he hesitated. The conscious part of his brain couldn't understand why, and it was warring with itself - why was he concerned? Why was he so worried? It was like he couldn't sort through the emotions enough to actually get a clear picture as to the why of them. Perhaps it was still surprise. It had been seasons since he was taken by the slavers and sold to the pack. Seasons where he, out of many, had gotten lucky; his healing skills had saved him beatings. His minor healing skills put him under the tutelage of another slave, who taught him many things: from healing to... less savory things that he hoped he'd never have to use.
That, on the eve of the attack, he had been considering using after they broke yet another young lady and used and abused her body. Again. Over and over. Later, of course, she had come to his den; at the very least, he was able to scrounge herbs to prevent conception, and herbs to ease the pain of her battered body. It was his job, after all: he kept the slave fighters in tip top shape, he made sure some of the girls didn't conceive. Though, some they didn't send to him he snuck herbs to anyway. He and his mentor cared for the slavers themselves, too, when wounded, but they preferred to have the slaves do the dirty work. Mostly, it was making sure that those who were forced to fight didn't die. His other job? To try to give them some measure of hope and happiness in the form of his goofiness. That goofiness, that friendliness helped even with the slavers themselves; they didn't feel threatened by Aiden. He never complained, never fought, always offered help even to the ones he despised the most, and thus... they left him alone. And when they left him alone, he could help the others more.
But the attack... He'd never expected that. He had huddled in the den, not really afraid, but not wanting to get involved either. He wanted to avoid whatever mess the slavers had caused this time... that is, until a familiar scent had reached his nostrils and he poked his head outside his den to a scene of death. The death? It all belonged to the slavers. In moments, he had found the source of the Abaven smell: a male he'd never seen before, but Aiden didn't care then, and he still didn't; all he knew was that wolves from home were here, and that the guard in front of his den was gone, and that all the slavers were preoccupied. And so, with Ody's help, he got to destroy the majority of the herbal supplies of the slavers. They didn't deserve to be healed; they deserved death, should they survive this attack. The only herbs he spared were ones for the escaping slaves, and those he delivered hastily to the ones he knew were wounded.
And now, hours later after the slavers were dead or dying, he was nearly back to Abaven. Unlike many, he was not wounded, and could make the journey with just some rests - after all, he was skinny and weak with a lack of exercise. It seemed unreal, and fake - even the wolf beside him. The whole thing just seemed...crazy, for lack of a better word. "It doesn't seem real," he spoke softly, the word tinged with a hint of what he was feeling: that shock, that heistancy, that confusion. He didn't know what else to say.
That feeling stayed, and he stayed conflicted, hollow, almost numb: a blur of emotions he couldn't put a name to ad he almost felt like drifting outside his body. Everything was surreal; he couldn't believe it at all, even when Ody led him past the borders. Ody might have spoke, but Aiden didn't know; he was preoccupied taking in his surroundings, eyes wide with disbelief. Scents he recognized, scents he didn't; one scent in particular though he could never forget, no matter how much had changed. Even when they stopped walking, and he was aware he had been plopped near Shaye's den, he didn't care; he tipped his head back and called: "COOOORVUUUUUUUUUUS! RHEEEEEEAAAAAAA!"
"Speech" "You"
That, on the eve of the attack, he had been considering using after they broke yet another young lady and used and abused her body. Again. Over and over. Later, of course, she had come to his den; at the very least, he was able to scrounge herbs to prevent conception, and herbs to ease the pain of her battered body. It was his job, after all: he kept the slave fighters in tip top shape, he made sure some of the girls didn't conceive. Though, some they didn't send to him he snuck herbs to anyway. He and his mentor cared for the slavers themselves, too, when wounded, but they preferred to have the slaves do the dirty work. Mostly, it was making sure that those who were forced to fight didn't die. His other job? To try to give them some measure of hope and happiness in the form of his goofiness. That goofiness, that friendliness helped even with the slavers themselves; they didn't feel threatened by Aiden. He never complained, never fought, always offered help even to the ones he despised the most, and thus... they left him alone. And when they left him alone, he could help the others more.
But the attack... He'd never expected that. He had huddled in the den, not really afraid, but not wanting to get involved either. He wanted to avoid whatever mess the slavers had caused this time... that is, until a familiar scent had reached his nostrils and he poked his head outside his den to a scene of death. The death? It all belonged to the slavers. In moments, he had found the source of the Abaven smell: a male he'd never seen before, but Aiden didn't care then, and he still didn't; all he knew was that wolves from home were here, and that the guard in front of his den was gone, and that all the slavers were preoccupied. And so, with Ody's help, he got to destroy the majority of the herbal supplies of the slavers. They didn't deserve to be healed; they deserved death, should they survive this attack. The only herbs he spared were ones for the escaping slaves, and those he delivered hastily to the ones he knew were wounded.
And now, hours later after the slavers were dead or dying, he was nearly back to Abaven. Unlike many, he was not wounded, and could make the journey with just some rests - after all, he was skinny and weak with a lack of exercise. It seemed unreal, and fake - even the wolf beside him. The whole thing just seemed...crazy, for lack of a better word. "It doesn't seem real," he spoke softly, the word tinged with a hint of what he was feeling: that shock, that heistancy, that confusion. He didn't know what else to say.
That feeling stayed, and he stayed conflicted, hollow, almost numb: a blur of emotions he couldn't put a name to ad he almost felt like drifting outside his body. Everything was surreal; he couldn't believe it at all, even when Ody led him past the borders. Ody might have spoke, but Aiden didn't know; he was preoccupied taking in his surroundings, eyes wide with disbelief. Scents he recognized, scents he didn't; one scent in particular though he could never forget, no matter how much had changed. Even when they stopped walking, and he was aware he had been plopped near Shaye's den, he didn't care; he tipped his head back and called: "COOOORVUUUUUUUUUUS! RHEEEEEEAAAAAAA!"