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He had once doubted he would ever become comfortable with the lack of sky above his head, but found that he was slowly getting accustomed to his home in Anathema’s tunnels. In the very start he had refused to settle in the large cave formations with his pack, but he had changed his mind. He supposed he was glad that he did. The tunnels offered a stronger sense of safety than he could have hoped to find out in the open above the earth. He remained a wanted man, he supposed, for his sins were great in the eyes of the clan.
The sparse room he had claimed as his own was as empty as he suspected his soul to be. Dark rock without decoration and a pile of blankets stored in a lonely corner was all there was, but still, this was his place. Perhaps it would not harm to personalize it a bit, but he was not a creative creature in that fashion. Pondering about this brought his thoughts to a silver songbird with her eggshell blue gaze. But she was not here, and he could conjure the memory of sharp pain of the slap she had delivered last time they parted.
Pale fingers brushed across his wolfen cheek, but she would have to do more to leave a lasting mark. She was gone now, and it was for the best. She did not belong to the darkness like he did. There was one more item that was his, one that he grudgingly considered precious. But he did not know how to wield the pristine sword, though it had already tasted blood by his hand. But he was nowhere remotely close to the skills he sought. But he had all the time in the world. Eventually he would be dangerous too.
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