Haunted Wood Hosts of the Air

Every once in a while, the boy looked behind him. No one was following him. It wouldn't surprise him if half the pack didn't even know who he was. The boy was not interested in fighting, nor claiming a throne he would be killed for anyway. Death was perhaps the most peaceful of their kind, simply because he felt like it didn't matter to him. Being loved and loving in return were foreign concepts. Perhaps he was completely without emotion, but then what was this pit in his stomach that begged for some kind of relief? He knew hunger, and it wasn't this. How come nothing satisfied him?

Then the shapes of the mist morphed into the shape of another, dark and sinister eyes peering at him from a distance. For the first time in his life, his heart pounded just a little quicker. The apparition spoke, and he was intending to reply. He looked around just once more, to see if anyone came for him. Did he want them to? He honestly couldn't say.

No, but you do. He answered in a monotone fashion, voice hoarse from his life in silence.