Swiftcurrent Creek The truth is

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The fog that settled over the creek this time of year was reminiscent of his own feelings—though a darkness had devoured him, surely.

There was no coming back from the death of his daughter. Days went by and it didn’t simply become easier—the pain did not stop, nor begin to numb. Instead, he had to force himself to do more. To be more.

Even just to be, honestly.

Yet while it was one day at a time—there was also a certain tension it seemed that lived in his Beta, as he watched from a distance the sulking form of a shadow that could only be Arric from sheer size alone. It rankled the comment his friend had thrown at him at the meeting—‘you’re a dickfuck,’ was the greeting he had received. And then a ‘sorry buddy, I get it.’

But he didn’t. And Akavir didn’t want him to get it—he could only hope that the big guy that seemed to settle down to meditate didn’t have to bury one of his own kids. Akavir wouldn’t apologize for needing space. Not for that.

Casting a sideways glance to the wetter cusp of the creek bed, the Alpha stalked forward, grabbing what he needed to be armed.

And then—waltzed up to the Beta male, who seemed intent on finding some inner peace. “Hey, fuckface,” he murmured, his words muffled as he approached, right before gearing up and all but slapping the cattail across the other man’s face in a pure explosion of fluffy seeds and mayhem.

How was that for being a dickhead?

If you've never played with a cattail as a kid have you even lived?