Despite All My Rage

Bullet With Butterfly Wings - Smashing Pumpkins


Dark grey paws stepped across the cold stone. The sky was covered with the same glorious oranges and pinks from the last time that he'd been here. The wolf that walked on the wall. Newol had returned, as he'd promised his mother he would do. Only, something was wrong with this land he was returning to. It was sick. Or maybe, maybe it was the brute who was sick. But something between the two was red hot deep down inside of him. It was also very strange. He'd been here before. This exact moment had happened in his time here before. Only the sun had been coming up then, now, it was going down. Fading away into nothing with the late hour. And he hadn't been the one walking on the wall. No. That had been the first wolf of Alacritis he'd met. The Lady in Red. So in a way this was the exact opposite of the moment that had happened before.

And justly so, Newol was a very different wolf than he'd been before. Upon arriving here from the desert, Newol had been just a punk little stray from the sand. And now he was Erani Adravendi's son. He was so much more than what he'd used to be. The handsome young male was more. But right now, all that was of no relevance. Something darker was at work. He didn't know what it was as he walked slowly, no fear or hesitation visible in his body as he walked the top of the wall. In fact, he seemed quite removed from it all. His head was held up with his ears standing tall, and his eyes seemed to barrel off into the distance. Something made his skin crawl, and it wasn't the cold. He was a Zaraidd. Cold was a way of life. No. This was something nasty. Something that made his muscles in his front upper legs radiate warmth. It was something that every Zaraidd experienced from time to time, something like a course on the family, but none the less, it's what he was going through, walking the edge. It was kinda funny to him, actually, because he knew what it was, he just didn't know what was causing it. But it was funny because he could almost swear he could taste the insanity.

It was a little voice, at the back of his mind. A little voice that wanted blood. All his life he'd tried, and succeeded, to be a cheerful and optimistic wolf, but the little voice was trying to convince him that you had to take a break from being good every now and again. You had to give it and taste the blood of another predator. He had no idea where it was coming from, but the voice was trying to tell him he didn't just want to kill, he wanted to eat another wolf like it was his prey. But he knew he wasn't allowed to listen. So he continued to walk down the wall. Last time she'd walked the wall. But this time it was him. The Man with Scars. Fitting. He liked it. It went along quite well with the three that sat on his snout. That voice said something else too.

It said he never should have left.