save me from myself

Pyrrhic lay in the center of the odd stone circle with his head between his paws and his ears slicked back. To round out his sour state his expression was pensive. He'd had a lot of time to think since the meeting and during that time his opinion of himself had varied so often from one extreme to the other that it was hard to say where he stood on the matter. Some days he was convinced of his suitability to lead. Others he was so ashamed of his behavior and the weakness in his heart he couldn't bring himself to look at his pack mates.

The thought nagged at him from sunup to sundown. And if he were being honest, why shouldn't it? He cared enough about his people to know they deserved an answer as much (maybe even more than) he needed one. So was he suited to the position or not? Was it grief at the heart of his problem and that was what he was stricken with or was it more than that, a weakness, perhaps, that his father hadn't detected before choosing him as heir?

Surely that wasn't it. His father – and by extension, Abraxas himself – had chosen him because he was capable. If there had been any question of his suitability his father would have cut him from succession by now. But he hadn't. Pyrrhic had lived and breathed for the Abraxas most of his young life. He'd done everything he could to prepare for the moment he ascended.

Those facts begged the question: had it all been a lie? Had he simply been good at pretending? The flaw there was that he hadn't felt like a pretender. Pyrrhic had felt like the real deal. His dismissed that thought. Not a lie. It was possible that if he wasn't fit for leadership the his flaws had simply been well hidden. Perhaps his father hadn't challenged him enough to expose it.

Disheartened by this thought, Pyrrhic's ears slumped to half mast. It couldn't be true. His father had been a good leader and taken care of the pack during their time of growing. He'd readied it for him so that he could go out into the world and conquer it with an army at his back.