Don't Think I Don't Think About It
|
He was a shell, driven to continue marching only by instinct. He wasn’t about to go jumping off any cliffs right now; been there, done that. No instead he continued on his death march, perhaps even worse than his self-imposed prison from earlier… At least then when he had been starving himself he hadn’t been forcing himself to move too much, now he was running on his last legs. Each step was slow and shaky.
He passed through territories new and old alike with a cold numbness, ebony gaze passed over structures and wolves alike with a blank unfeeling stare. He had no destination, no goal just motion, always motion.
He had not gone north though… he still couldn’t face it. Couldn’t bring himself to look at the lands that had once been his home. They were more of a hell now, taunting him with all he had lost, all he had been forced to lose.
Well the endless marching was going to end today one way or another… though Kyung was unaware of that. A scent he had long thought forgotten assaulted his senses and for the first time in a while the melanistic boy stopped. His gaze flashed to his right and despite himself the fur along his spine rose up, lips curled back and a growl clawed its way out of his throat.
How dare he show up now!
|
His brother would spin around and the growling would grow stronger, ears pulling back and tail rising high over his rump, a dominant display towards his estranged brother… and more than that: aggressive. His litter mate took a step towards him and Kyung jerked back the growl growing louder still. Still the earthen boy moved towards him and Kyung planted his paws unwilling to run, to back down. They were too close, much much too close.
Rin would speak and the growling would stop, his expression growing hard. It wasn’t a stupid question… not really. Kyung was certain he didn’t look like himself, emaciated and unkempt but he could stop the cool remark that sprung to his lips. “Good to see you still remember who I am.” It was a barb, meant to hurl into his brother’s flesh and twist; a blunt instrument of his anger towards the wolf he had once seen as his brother.
|