Hushed Willows And I won't help but stare at every word

Eros could feel himself slipping away, slowing dragged under the weight of his memories as they all came flooding back; he could see the face of the woman who birthed him, the woman he vowed to never again refer to as his mother. Her hatred was felt the second he was in her womb no longer—or, perhaps, he may have felt it even before that fateful day. Yet despite the lack of love provided by that woman, the phantom still found himself drawn to the willow trees. This land, despite everything, was home once. It was the first home he could remember having, where he once had a brother and a sister to waste his days away with.

But that was years ago.

“Did you ever know a man named Stark?” he asked, turning his head to face her. “This place belonged to him once.” Although she knew not of Marauder’s Keep, that didn’t necessarily mean she didn’t know of the man that once led it; the pack could have fallen whilst he still remained, loyal to his claim. Although, something told him that he was being naive to assume there may be any real possibility.

Too naive, just like in his youth—it irked him.

“Ignore me, he was from a time long ago,” added the man, shaking his head dismissively. “Tell me about those that came after—the group you spoke of before when I asked about these willows.” A pack he knew nothing of, filled with wolves he never met, living in the place of his birth.