Life Ain't Always Beautiful

Alive, alive, alive. It thundered like a heartbeat in his head and chest. It screamed at him from the corners of his mind. He had raced here as fast as his paws could carry him. Each step degrading his sanity a little more, until he was a form of fury and rage. Alive, alive, alive. This was all some terrible ploy, or some new apparition of his insanity. Knowing, knowing that it could not be true did not slow him any. He could not turn away, could not divert from this path. He could only run.

When night fell and his paws could carry him no further, he slept in a hollowed out tree, and woke to thrashing. The lingering memory of fire blazing and the smell of burning flesh stayed with him. No thoughts, his mind was empty. He could not think, could not think past the single word beating so quickly inside of him it threatened to burst free. Alive, alive, alive.”

And then he was off again, racing the last, short distance to the cave, well before the morning began. He struck the sentry first, like a battering ram. Hitting the smaller wolf so hard the breath was knocked from his body. He could cry an alarm, and his throat was torn before he could understand what happened. The Warlords teeth flew blood through the air. He tossed the body to the ground and continued forward. He fought wolf after wolf, but he had nowerewithal to know how many. If it lived, it did so only until he found them. Some tried to run, those he chased down. The bloody nightmare of a wolf with glassy eyes made no sound as he finished off each. And every. One of them.

Then there was just one beating heart left, one creature to stalk. He did so now, slipping through the cavern, chasing the sound of their heart beat, their breath.


"Sirius Fatalis"