Redsand Canyon The quiet hour

A good possibility, it seemed, from the view of Nyra, that he could be the product of a deal with the Devil. Hemlocke never knew his mother as the type to be insane or to be a liar so Hemlocke never considered that he could be anything less then what his mother had said him to be. Nyra however seemed to think that despite that, Hemlocke could very well choose what path he wanted to take in life. 

He nods delicately to her words, taking her path for the better to heart. He wanted to do the same. I definitely dont want to meet the Devil at the crossroads.. He spoke slowly, his long legs shifting, largely pointed black ears perking. I want to be good. I want to do good for others. And maybe, living amongst the blood hungry, the war torn, the heathens, he might somehow find that. If anything, maybe these type of wolves would find interest and use for him more then any other group would have. 

Then, admittedly as a single ear turns back, I just feel like no matter how many good deeds I do, I will always be cursed in the eyes of the Gods. The Devil was the lesser of his two worries, as odd as that were to think. It was the favor of his Gods he desired most though felt he could never obtain. That no matter what I do, because of what I am, I'm going to Hell. And the Hellhound, despite being molded by hell's finest, shuttered to the thought.