The Heartwood Will you tear my skin?

On long limbs. They walked. Loped. Trotted. On their way to the distance land they were to claim. Forsaken. Two males, broken and beaten, but had not lost. He had felt the eyes boring. Glaring. Staring. Stirring. The primal beast that lay dormant had risen up, taken shape. He had felt the embers of the stares, and he had reveled in it. There was power in lust, something that Dreven knew how to use. It was a good reminder that Dreven had been handsome and he supposed he still was past the scars.

Tattered ears swivel. Turn. Crunch of soot and ash under feet. Gritty. Grimy. Strange, pieces of darkness wedged in footpads. Dreven had put his nose to the ground. Sniffing. Smelling deep. The scent of death, decay tickled his nostrils and yet. There was newness, green grasses, flowers. Life poking it's head back up to touch the sky in the forest of ruin. Much like Drev had done.

His new king speaks. Deep voice, curling, resounding. Leaving. It flittered around him, harsh and heavy, much like the man himself, but it left a lasting feeling. A strength in his chest, in his core.

Dreven likes the sound of that rank. I will endeavor to do my best. He scratches out at some of the borders. LIfts his own leg to piss upon the trees and rocks. Red Eyes pooling from one end of the new lands to the other. Lifting up. Up towards the heavens. The bones of trees reaching. Flailing. Begging. There was no god there, but no everyone listened.

Dreven knew well that all life offered was pain and eventually death. Peace.