June 14, 2015, 05:11 AM
Blackfeather Woods had been a good home, a better home than Ziragon Bosk had ever been. There, there were members who actually cared for their packmates, except for the one who attacked Potema, but other than that, it was their personality not their appearance that mattered. This was the first real place he settled since leaving his homeland, and it was the first real home he had since his exile — if you didn't count the times he lived as a gladiator, he had been a slave, sure, but they treated him well after seeing how he could fight and he had a purpose then. — And he was glad he had spent time with this pack.
Kenneth would miss these woods with all his heart, but he was still reminded of his old home here and he did not belong in the south. If he was going to live in these green lands, at least he should be living North of these wilds. It was calling for him, the north, tugging at his blood, his guts. He had finally given up and allowed to pull him away from the shadowy home he lived in.
The prince did not do so willingly, for his nephews and niece (or those he thought were his nephews and niece) lived here. But perhaps they were better off not knowing who their father was, or their northern lienage. They were better off here.
Sighing softly, the black wolf trudged silently to the borders were he casted one last glance at the shadowy woods, let out a sorrowful howl, announcing his departure, saying he wished to part on good terms with the pack and thanked them for all kinship they had given him, for the feeling that he belonged once more and howled his farewells. The song finished, the northerner left the woods without looking back. He learnt that if he was leaving, it was best to leave them all behind, to not to look back for it would only increase the sadness and guilt.
Goodbye.
Kenneth would miss these woods with all his heart, but he was still reminded of his old home here and he did not belong in the south. If he was going to live in these green lands, at least he should be living North of these wilds. It was calling for him, the north, tugging at his blood, his guts. He had finally given up and allowed to pull him away from the shadowy home he lived in.
The prince did not do so willingly, for his nephews and niece (or those he thought were his nephews and niece) lived here. But perhaps they were better off not knowing who their father was, or their northern lienage. They were better off here.
Sighing softly, the black wolf trudged silently to the borders were he casted one last glance at the shadowy woods, let out a sorrowful howl, announcing his departure, saying he wished to part on good terms with the pack and thanked them for all kinship they had given him, for the feeling that he belonged once more and howled his farewells. The song finished, the northerner left the woods without looking back. He learnt that if he was leaving, it was best to leave them all behind, to not to look back for it would only increase the sadness and guilt.
Goodbye.