Witch's Marsh going on tilt

@Saena no rush <3

It had been several weeks since he had left the hollow, since that night he had taken his frustrations out on the black and white male. He had met with no one else in that time, nor was he aware of how much time had passed. The white wolf had holed up in a quiet corner of some forest, and there he had stayed, barely keeping himself fed as he stewed and seethed in his own mind. His ribs showed.

His relief had been fleeting. So fleeting, he had been satiated for no more than a hour or two, before his chest was clenched once more with agitation. He thought back on the death of his sister, on how his mother had sent him out to find his footing again, and how that had worked. Only, that it hadn't, and that only now dawned on him. He had suppressed his temper and no more.

He did not know what to do differently. He was unbalanced. He did not even know what to do with the realization that he wanted more of what he had with the black and white wolf. Not the boy himself, but the power, and the control. In the moments between the blazes of anger behind his eyes he was frightened. Frightened of what he had become, and frightened of how much he liked it.

But the Luke of before was not yet dead, and he slowly, deliberately, moved his paws north. He had turned and taken a dozen paces toward the hollow, but he could not face what he had done, and he turned back toward the only source of light in the dark he had found himself in. In the north, he sought affection, he sought stability, he sought comfort, and he sought his way forward.