07-11-2009, 06:13 PM
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205 words, sorry for short!
Flayra confirmed his suspicion. Dahlia de Mai; Ares now had a name to attach to the pack, the evil pack, the hated pack from the northwest. The pack that nurtured his personal bogeyman, his mother, and trapped his fair sister, the Princess of a tale where he was the hero, where he would rescue her from her chains. "Dahlia de Mai are no friends of mine, either. I'm not surprised that they lied to you, considering they let someone that I hate very much be a member of their pack." He had hesitated before the word hate; it was so strong, so intense of a word. But it applied. He couldn't deny that it applied, and so he just spoke it, because it was real. Ares.. hated his mother. End of story.
"It's nice to meet you, Flayra." Ares said solemnly and seriously. "Have you been a member here long? I'm pretty new." His hands, always in a quest to keep busy, were pick pick picking at the bundle of hay, crunching the dried bits of grass or whatever it was, dropping the crumbled pieces to the floor near where his right foot was idly bouncing against the bale. He was a pretty fidgetty kid.
Flayra confirmed his suspicion. Dahlia de Mai; Ares now had a name to attach to the pack, the evil pack, the hated pack from the northwest. The pack that nurtured his personal bogeyman, his mother, and trapped his fair sister, the Princess of a tale where he was the hero, where he would rescue her from her chains. "Dahlia de Mai are no friends of mine, either. I'm not surprised that they lied to you, considering they let someone that I hate very much be a member of their pack." He had hesitated before the word hate; it was so strong, so intense of a word. But it applied. He couldn't deny that it applied, and so he just spoke it, because it was real. Ares.. hated his mother. End of story.
"It's nice to meet you, Flayra." Ares said solemnly and seriously. "Have you been a member here long? I'm pretty new." His hands, always in a quest to keep busy, were pick pick picking at the bundle of hay, crunching the dried bits of grass or whatever it was, dropping the crumbled pieces to the floor near where his right foot was idly bouncing against the bale. He was a pretty fidgetty kid.