Hoshor Plains Wrap my arms around him and pretend

There was no bear, no lion, no cougar, not even an alternative pack of wolves to end him. Fates had judged even he unworthy of an end. Was this to make him suffer longer? Was it not yet time for him to be undone?

In the midst of his existential crisis, the tormented dark prince heard a beacon to him, beckoning him closer. It was a howl that sprung forward from his own. It asked him to near them, and desired meeting. And everything within him warned him away from it. What if this was one of the many faces? What if this had been Gwen? Or Aglæca? He didn't know, and he struggled to fgure if the damn he gave was enough to keep him rooted there.

It wasn't.

And his limbs sprung just as the whistle ended, the dark pads moving quickly and silently over the grasses with as much spirit as he put into them. Almost desperate to release himself from his harbor of woe and sail into something so much more worthwhile, something beautiful, and free...

It took him 15 minutes to travel where his auds swore that howl to be, and in the distance of the night, he saw a lone silhouette. The howl he knew to be feminine, and Cry found himself suddenly unwilling to take that last set of steps that would bring him closer to this waiting figure. He needed to know, but didn't want to.

He knew he didn't want to hurt, anymore.