Haunted Wood And When We Go Don't Blame Us

Clarence swallowed hard when the man nudged him and got to his feet. The boy moved forward hesitantly to try and help him to his feet, tail tucking against his hocks. This was his fault, his fault, his fault. He'd been the one to hurt Memory like this - he had ruined his life. 

But this was important. Searching for the pups. Patrolling. 

Crimson eyes, which had been glancing to the side as he followed the golden wolf out of the meeting place, shot up when Memory spoke. How was he not mad? The boy listened with rapt attention as the man spoke, ears pressed against his skull in shame. Oddly, Memory's story echoed his own in an eerie way. The skin on his ankle itched beneath his bracelet. 

Love could save him? That was a foreign concept to Clarence. He tried not to flinch when he saw the damage on the man's face - the damage he'd done - but his eyes did water a bit. His voice was hushed as he spoke. "What is love?" he asked quietly. "How do I know what love is?"