Kintla Flatlands coax me out my low

lets get back into swing ;) -- making UPC assumptions because I can :B
no need to match lenght, im just a rambling ram like that

my propeller - arctic monkeys

As the snow had melted from the ground and the blades of grass had cut through the dirt to replace the white mantle for one of lush green, Finn Ollivander had fallen victim of a disease. 
Not a contagious one, or even a viral one -- but in untreated conditions, a fatal one.
As the first flowers and critters of the earth began to wake, Finn fell into an emotional slumber, a hypothermia of the heart.

While the memory of his doppleganger, or whatever, buried deep in the beach and washed away by the rain, it was not over a romantic let down that he was grieving over. From the furthest, most remote place in his heart -- his home -- news had been sent. 
Why had they even bothered to send them was beyond him, after he (a rebellious yearling at the time) had decided to leave, the doors and opportunities of ever calling the place home again had been shut like a door.
And as he had turned tail, only the scowling faces of the pack's leaders, and the teary face of her mother had remained as memory of the place, that of course with the great feeling of triumph that flooded through him as he walked off, his tail swinging high like a giant middle finger to those that he left behind.
Now, as his tail drooped between his paws and he felt the triump being replaced with heavy guilt, he could assure the middle finger was now a thumb pressing down on his sore heart.

From the mountains, plains and all the way back from the Mount where he, the only child resulting of a failed marriage, had been born came a messanger, bearing not exactly the best of news. The man, an aged wolf with a scruffy appereance had recognized him inmediately, calling him by name as they had, cointidentially crossed paths by the Neverwinter Forest. Finn had been hesitant to hear the man out, thinking that he was some lunatic that had was perhaps drunk on saltwater. But as he had begun to speak of his home, of what he had known, it was hard for Finn not to pay attention.
He knew his mother. He knew her by name too, Adele, and claimed that she, had been a good friend of his, and that he, had been too present during Finn's own birth.
He had mentioned having known his father but didn't elaborate on the subject as Finn himself didn't want to adress it either.
His deadbeat father was a buried matter.
But at least not literally, much to his ignorance.

Then, came the news.
It was his mother.
She was in a delicate state, he had said while looking at the ground, making Finn's heartbeat quicken into a pace unkown to man. She had fought, he then added while raising his chin a little bit just to meet the greyscale male's olive eyes for a second. 
But, she had not made it. 
Like a flower bud waiting for Spring, Adele had been waiting for a miracle -- a miracle she had birthed two years back.
It seemed that she had never quite let him go.
She had never abandoned hope that her son would return, and in her sickness, had sent someone to get him.

But again, like everything in Finn's life seemed to go, he had found him little too late.
The only thing that was always quick to arrive, was the guilt.
For not voicing what he felt at the beach, for not trying harder, and now.. for abandoning his mother in her grave.

 So with his head still spinning with the weight of the news and  his paws automatically carrying him back to the Kintla Flatlands, the lonesome male, allowed the single tear he'd shed for his mother, to stream down his cheek.
It was time to get rid of the sadness -- it was time to fuck the grey stormcloud that seemed to have been following him since Day 1 in the Teekon Wilds.

The snow had melted and so had his mother's life.
But his spirit wouldn't follow.
He could get over this -- somehow he always did.