I recall the push more than the fall
#8
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Helping. With no reward to be asked, for no reason other than the fact that it hurt to see another soul struggle with the burden. He could not make it go away through magic, he did not have that kind of skill. But he could teach her what Skoll had taught him, if only to ensure that the male's legacy did not fade away. Just thinking of his friend was enough to calm Lubomir's spirit, to soothe his rage and need for loss of control. That was what it was, a need to lose control. So entrapped in his rigid life in the Old Country, for all it had been carefree and fun, Lubomir had grown up with a firm belief that he had to be as good as Frigg, as strong and confident. But he had been helped and now he would help another.


Hush, my lady. Please. I will do my best. I should learn your name, first. Mine is Lubomir. A smile and warmth in the male's eyes. He could comfort her. He wanted to. So badly. But she had not given him permission to and she was much younger than him. He could frighten her. And here, on her territory, she could simply call the pack on him. Some time ago, I lost a good friend of mine. Before he died, he taught me simple meditation. He told me to focus on something that would keep me grounded in the rage. A scene, a person, whatever helped. Lubomir drew a deep breath. This next part would be somewhat difficult. In order to test how well it goes, you would have to enter that stage of fury. I do not know if you want to. He had not wanted to, in the beginning. But what else could he do? Risk killing Mew? No. So Lubomir had learned.


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