M - if you walk away, i'll walk away

Harlowe D'Angelo · 03-08-2011, 08:00 AM

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I didn't think so, but I wasn't totally sure. XD I didn't play Harl for the first six months, and I thought maybe somebody mighta had him in a Haventhread somewhere along the line without me knowing. O_O Also lol typo in my last post.

Word Count → 451

Things had never been right with Harlowe's head. He had been a quiet puppy, more interested in books and stories than engaging in the usual childish play. There had never been any puckish quality to Harlowe -- there was no joy or glee in his life aside from his mother, and even that had become some sort of twisted obsession. When she had gone away, it had shattered him, and had attempted to follow someone else -- but he had not been able to live up to Larkspur's expectations. On the contrary, the pale-hued wolf had failed miserably at nearly every turn, and this had caused the sable-shaded man to reject him. Now, though they lived in the same pack, the orange-eyed uncle-cousin did not so much as acknowledge the Zepar's existence. There was a woman and children in his life now; why he should acknowledge the failure he had helped to create, Harlowe did not know, but he desired the male's attention no less for it. Anyone's attention would have done, but Harlowe could not seek it out. Social interaction was beyond him, and he failed at it even now -- though some instinctual part of him recognized the danger in the stranger's aggression, he did not run. Instead, he simply backed up, moving faster as the other approached, but to no avail of course -- as he was moving backward, of course he would not match the other's pace, and he had missed the only opportunity he might have had to save himself.

There was a hand about his throat suddenly, and his scrawny back was slammed against a tree, rough coldness biting through his fur. Though he squirmed and struggled, his hands clutching at the other man's arm and wrist, the youth simply did not have the power to fight the elder, stronger male -- not even in top condition would Harlowe have provided a challenge for his stranger half-brother. Perhaps if he had not failed Larkspur so miserably, he might know something about combat, about saving his own sorry hide -- no such knowledge existed within him, and so the boy simply struggled meekly, thrashing his meager weight against the other canine's grip. Though the other canine spoke, Harlowe's panic was so great he could not speak -- coherent thoughts did not surface in his mind, and only a garbled sort of half-whine escaped his mouth, choked to silence half-way through as the other canine tightened his grip. The boy's own face was frozen into a frothing snarl, far more fearful than the two-toned canine's -- Harlowe's chocolatey ears were pinned against his head, still thrashing and now trembling, finally realizing the imminent danger of his predicament.

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