good intentions

The Gods were fighting in his head tonight. The wrath of Odin clashing in his bloodied throat, the might of Bellona lashing around, to and fro, in resistance as she attempted to break out of the cage behind his polished ivories. There had been so much he wanted to say to the man that bore him. So many words, so many flicks of his barbed tongue. Still, with all his anger, the ashen male couldn’t do much about the situation that was pulling itself apart in his head. Everything he could have done to protect his mother, the sentences that were held between his teeth… All amounting to this anxiety, this pain. Like a wake of vultures scavenging upon his carcass did he rip himself apart, and though he clearly conveyed the impression of being alive, it was obvious that the light in his eyes had all since vanished. His thoughts, his inner self, oh, how they kept cussing and thrashing its head, it snapped its soundless jaws into the atmosphere with such animosity he was certain that at any moment he, himself, would tear the very sky from its seat and spit the stars at everyone around him.

But he couldn’t do that, could he? For he was alone. All those years struggling to lift his back from under the paw that beat him, only to stumble around like the lost pup he’d been the weeks prior. Even out here, with all this silence, he could still hear his father chanting aloud to him in front of his pack mates. Disappointment, shame, it all crackled in his voice. 'You're gonna be nothing, you little shit! Did you honestly think you could get through this world humming and singing and picking daisies, huh? You little titty baby, you are! No! This world is made on blood, and through blood, we--,' "Take blood! I fucking get it, okay? I don't want to be like you, and just because of that, the very small insignificant fact, that maybe I didn't want to turn out like a fucking barbarian, the idea of freedom under you, it boils your soul, doesn't it? Doesn't it?! I don't want t--, Uh... Oh... Um," Sitting in front of him with its head down low, tears flowing from sun-kissed eyes, did a child stay waiting and... and a female. Damn, she was pretty, wasn't she? He was sure that she was ashamed of him, too. Ugh. Dammit.

The pup, on the other hand, he didn't look very old at all, no, but he did look scared. Well. Whit was scared too. "Um, I, I didn't mean to frighten you, if I did, I-I didn't know you two were here... I uh, can... Can I help you?" His whines of embarrassment stayed behind his breath, ears flattened as he brought himself to lay down a little ways off from the two of them. He could sense something from this child that reminded him of himself, but he didn't know if it was the fact they were both out here, lost and crying or if it was something more. "Um, I-I'm Whitfield. Do... Do you have a name, kiddo?"