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+--- Thread: Fox's Glade We knew from the beginning (/showthread.php?tid=36873)
We knew from the beginning - Nanoq - September 29, 2019
The reassurance that the shakes are nothing to be feared brings about a childish curiosity. A need for the scholar to investigate, and to find out what, exactly, these things are. Why the earth trembles, and why they seem to grow longer every day.
This is the farthest that Newt has been—always keeping tucked in the safety of Easthollow, especially after the attack on his sister, Leta. If his parents knew, they would scold him up and down.
But in truth, Newt never meant to wander this far, and he grows scared the further he wanders lost in circles. The sun is going down, and every creak leaves the scholar jolting. His ears airplane, and a whimper escapes his lips.
RE: We knew from the beginning - Tiarnach - October 20, 2019
He misses his parents, and his siblings. It isn't something he'd expected, truthfully — not for a lack of love for his parents, but because he has never known the feeling of missing another wolf. He'd missed his home greatly, but that had been a different feeling. Far different. The only similarity is that he is as clueless about how to deal with this as he had been when he'd first left Lost Creek Hollow. He can't just... leave. Not after how hard he'd tried to get back.
But that doesn't mean it's easy to simply ignore the aching hole in his chest. Some part of him clings to the childish notion that maybe if he goes back to where he'd last seen them, they'll be there, waiting for him. Ready to come back with him. And that's why he's here, watching the sinking sun and the dimming sky and thinking that it seems awfully similar to the feeling in his chest. His family isn't here, because he'd chosen to leave them behind, and now he is alone. Except — not quite alone. A whimper breaks through his melancholy, startling him, and his head whips around at a dizzying pace as he searches for the source.
Hello?He calls, trying and failing to mask the nervousness he feels. Agitation quickly replaces it as he reminds himself that the voice sounded young, probably just some dumb kid playing a prank on him. Maybe it's Eshe or Sionnach or Aengus, a voice whispers to him, and the aching spark of irrational hope only increases his frustration. The only fresh wolf-scent he smells is infuriatingly foreign to him.
Are you like, dying, or just being a creep?