Men's hatred has made me this way

*Ira Nox* · May 26, 2014, 08:19 AM

If you take '@Ira' out of the CODE tags it should tag me next time. :-) And, hmm, probably because he's a meanie like that. :/

Ira had been so absolutely focused on running into Bones, and finding lone wolves to recruit to Silvertip, though admittedly, most of the pre-teens time was consumed with his girlfriend — or rather worrying about his girlfriend, that he hadn’t realized just how much he was wearing himself down from the lack of sleep, the constant gnawing worry that ate at him, and the fact that he pushed and pushed. Except not even his youth and (apparently not endless) energy could not save him from the torment that was exhaustion. On his way to the communal den area it had hit him like he had stupidly slammed head first into a brick wall expecting to sail right through it only to find that he had met with great resistance and was knocked on his bum, looking up at it with nothing short of perplexed expression upon his face. While he had not actually slammed into a brick wall he certainly felt like he had. His body was dragging, the usual haughty manner in which he carried himself deflated until he moved stiffly, as if his joints did not want to work properly. Climbing up to the communal dens was a trail that Ira, who just wanted to sleep was not all that fond of overcoming.

The Prince, finally making it up to the mouth of the cavern spared a glimpse at the woman who was sitting to one side of it, presumably enjoying the sunset. At first he had not seen the marred half of her face upon his quick look but upon closer, albeit tired inspection, rudely staring as he was accustomed to doing, he noticed it and drew back his lip in disgust. “Well aren’t you a beauty,” Ira spoke cruelly, accompanied by an equal as cruel sneer upon the boy’s face. He was almost too tired to keep up his cruel charade but not quite to that point, yet, it would seem. She must have been another new-ish meat, like Majesty, and as the insolent and rude Princeling of Silvertip it was his job to make the crude and lasting impression. They weren’t supposed to be good impressions because Ira had found out long ago it was better to be hated, or feared than loved. Especially because of the curse he had attached to him like some kind of plague. He slipped on the edge that hovered just above the path that had carried him up to it but composed himself quickly and padded inside the cavern to avoid plummeting to his death just because he was more tired than he had ever been in his life.