[html]<style type="text/css">
.hybrid-bloody p {padding:0px 30px; text-indent:25px; margin-bottom:10px; color:#BFBFBF}
.hybrid-bloody b {color:#CFC39B; letter-spacing:.3px; }
.hybrid-bloody {width:373px; margin:0 auto; background-color:#2F2F2F; background-image:url(http://sleepyglow.net/souls/gifts/feb2010/hybrid.png); background-position:top center; background-repeat:no-repeat; background-position:fixed; padding:235px 0px 0px 0px; font-family: georgia, serif; font-size:12px; color:#0E0E0E; word-spacing:.5px; line-height:14px; letter-spacing:-.2px; text-align:justify; border:1px solid #000000;}
</style>
The conclusion of the Second Dahlian War meant the conclusion of an era for Hybrid. He mourned the loss of war. During that war, it had been his right, his duty and his responsibility to shed blood. Although this was normally expected of him, during "peace" time, there had been more political restrictions. Perhaps there had been things he had lost during the war because of it, too. Certainly not his morality, but perhaps some of his pride. Hybrid now had a large scar that began above his left eye, followed a horizontal path across his brow and right eye and ended somewhere near his right eye. Although it no longer ached like it had earlier that year, it was still there, a disgusting reminder that he had lost to that traitor.
Suddenly, Hybrid realized he had referred to the traitor by name: Vitium. He had not said his former lover's name once during their entire fight, and now, it had suddenly come to mind. He had not even noticed.
Hybrid snarled, angry at himself for breaking his rule. The traitor was the enemy, a fool for putting the life of some wolf above the clan. He had not just consorted with the enemy: he had betrayed the clan and everything they stood for. And now, Hybrid felt as though he had betrayed something inside of him. Regret weighed heavily on his shoulders.
Hybrid quickly shook himself out of his pathetic reverie. He had no time to dwell on such foolish issues. They were in the past and he had already spent days thinking about the fight: where he'd gone wrong and where he'd made his fatal mistakes. It had been entirely his fault. Now, he had to move on and find something else to occupy his time with until the next war.
He continued through the Forest, taking little heed of the return of spring or the beauty of the world that surrounded him. All he wanted to see was red, and all he could see was green. He continued his disenchanted march through the Forest, grumbling quietly to himself. Soon enough, however, he noticed another being. From behind, Hybrid could not tell if it was Rikka, Corona, or someone else from the clan. So many of the coyotes had the sandy yellow pelt. He certainly did not want to end up talking to that foolish girl again.
He skirted around the other coyote, looping back once he was ahead. He peered through the growth and slowly-budding bushes to see who it was. He frowned when he realized it was a male, and therefore, neither Rikka nor Corona. He approached slowly, trying to determine who it was. The scent was familiar, but he had never spoken to this coyote before. He was an unknown face who he was certain he knew.
"Who are you," Hybrid stated, staring at the other coyote. He was a Hydra. His co-Hydra, in fact, but the coyote's name eluded him. Perhaps the name was on the tip of his tongue; Hybrid didn't know. He knew him; he had seen him. He had seen him fight, and he had been there when they made their trek to Dahlia to burn them to the ground. Hybrid knew this man, but he could not place him.
[/html]