Desperate To Breathe

After seeing Theory Noir ran, he didn’t know what to think or feel he just wanted to embrace numbness. He hated that his father’s death was affecting him just as heavily as it was. He’d denounced his connection to the wolves of Abaven, why did this hit him so hard? He hated it and he hated himself for it. So he tried to run from his problems again. Really he was a coward, but Noir would never actually admit that to himself or anyone else. He’d keep his front, the carefully planned persona he showed everyone else.

It was slipping and cracking from a blow he never expected, so massive paws carried his blue marked frame over the grasses as he headed northward. A place he didn’t frequent. Noir thrived on attention, and such a sparsely populated land was not where he was drawn. Now though? For the first time in his life he felt himself craving solitude.

His pace was steady as he lost himself in the rhythm of his gait, lost in the depths of his mind he didn’t notice a familiar scent on the breeze. He didn’t realize she was there until his eyes fell upon her form, perched on the edge lazily, like one wrong move wouldn’t bring her to a painful end. The sight of her made him pause, feeling like wherever he turned he found her waiting for him. Like she was more spirit than mortal.

”Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes.” This time his words were more than just what he assumed she would want to hear. His was weary and there was little more welcome than a familiar face. Duchess was one of the few wolves who brought him… emotions. He wasn’t about to put a name to it, and banished the thought as he approached her.