Not my Time

Hati was not good at allowing himself to rest or take the time to heal - which, frankly, was why his wounds had become so bad to begin with. He was restless, the uncomfortable feeling translating into more and more bottled-up rage as time went by. It didn't help that the forced rest gave him time to think, time to remember. Bad memories, all of them; he couldn't think of a single good memory since he'd been a pup playing with Thor and Loki in the den, not since Hroovitnir had taken a particular interest in him and isolated him. Terrible memories best forgotten, buried and hidden behind the fog of his rage. His brothers had at one point or another left on their own business, leaving him alone with his dark and unsettled thoughts.

He needed something, anything to take his mind away from the blackness, to expel his excess energy, but there was nothing. Just a very dangerous boredom. He wanted to run, to expend his aggression in sparring, to hunt for himself, but though he'd healed enough to be restless he was nowhere near capable of any of those yet.

And it pissed him off.



"Speech"

And besides in the meantime
I'm just dreaming of tearing you apart