Sheepeater Cliff i'll tell you my sins and you can sharpen your knife

meep it's all good ;p

[size=medium]"Change your ways while you're young"[/size]

[size=small]The second his lips pronounced his name his voice shattered helplessly.
Months -- no years, had gone by since the peppered male had last pronounced his son's name. The short and simple syllable was hard to emit, leaving not only a dusty but also bitter taste in the man's lips once it all ended. Still the affection with which he pronounced it never faltered.

Like a star that shone in the canvas of black night after night, Galileo had forever, (and would continue to) keep the hopes of seeing again the son he had so cruely been separated from, alive in his heart. This was perhaps the only thing that kept him from caving in to the idea of death.
He wanted -- he needed -- to make peace.
With himself and with those he had hurt.

With his tail hanging limply between his legs and his face contorted into a gimace that sought to fight back the upcoming tears, he turned an ear towards Dante. The comment of his mate was unconciously ignored by the hurting male, who despite it all, did not blame Adele but his own father. While he too knew that blood was not a matter of choice, he understood his ex-mate's fears as she discovered the reality of what hid beneath his freckled face and kind amber eyes.

Suddenly, as his fellow Counselor's voice mimicked the name of his child, ears and head lifted brusquely. With his eyes now burning with something far away from grief he stared at the Alpha. He was right to think that he did not want false illusions. He did not need to have more pain applied onto his fragile heart.

"Don't lie to me friend, I have no heart for dire lies" he barked hoarsely, not being sure if the seriousness and crudity of his calamity had been lost on his ears. After having searched for an seemingly inexistent piece of his past for so long it was only natural for the male to doubt Dante's words, regardless of how well intentioned they were.

"What is the chance that the boy that you speak of is the same I once lost?" he barked, a rhetorical question that was meant to squash the small hope that was left in his heart. Despite the fact that his son would be far from being a boy still, the father's broken heart could not help but to refer to him in the only way he had known him as: a child.

"What is his lastname?" he interjected before he could help himself. Again, a morbid curiosity to know -- or comfirm that he was once again letting his hopes up -- shoved the bitter words up his throat.
Hopefully, they would be easier to swallow.
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