Wapun Meadow But I still want you to hurt

Thoughts overtook his mind, casting him deeper and deeper down a rabbit hole he had not business falling down. He thought of Indra, of what had happened to her; he missed her, realising only after the fact that their last meeting was truly the final part of their story. Had he known before, he would have made things different. But who could predict death? Certainly not him. He thought, too, of Laurel—oh, Laurel. He could still hear the accusation in her voice, the words ringing through his ears as clear as day. He wondered often if maybe he was the cause for his friend’s death; he wasn’t the one to kill her, he couldn’t even imagine doing so, but what if his role in her life was the driving point to reach what ultimately was her end? Had he never met them, or even had he stayed away after the fact, would she still be alive? It pained him to realise that the answer was likely yes, she would be; he blamed himself, more and more.

Alexander had not heard the approaching footfalls. There was too much noise going on inside his head, too great of a distraction for him to pay any mind to the present. But the present had a way of getting what it wanted, dragging him abruptly from his mind when a stranger suddenly appeared in front of him, blocking his path.

Immediately, the albino came to a stop, hackles raised and teeth bared; he was not scared, nor even close. The stranger was smaller than him, and seemingly younger, too. Alexander had no reason to be frightened but every right to be angry—and angry he was, fueled by rage, for it was the only emotion he could feel strong enough to drown out his dread and sorrow. “I don’t give a fuck who you are,” he snarled, quick to anger; perhaps he wanted to be angry, wanted to feel something aside from sadness. Maybe that was why it was so quick to come on and so reluctant to leave. It did not even falter at the mention of Easthollow, or at least not visibly.

“What would it matter if I was?” he asked, though whether or not it was truly a question demanding an answer remained unclear. “Why are you concerned about my sister’s pack and its members?” Was this possibly Indra’s killer? Everything about him said no—although the most unconvincing part was definitely that he couldn’t see Indra being bested by some kid. She was better than that. Stronger. But logic and grief rarely agreed on anything, and he considered the possibility just as seriously as any other.