[aw] where pilgrims disappear

Max Klein · 07-11-2012, 02:03 AM

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(300) deal with it

The raw sting of rejection was salt in his wounds, and Max displayed it in the only way he knew—with aggression, base and simple. He wasn’t angry at her, but she had replaced the person who had led him, and being ignorant to the ways of true hierarchy, he had not known a line was crossed. This changed presently; while Myrika was not as physical in her demand of submission, her posture shift drew her up to a height he did not think possible. She towered over him and Max, thankfully, realized he had done something wrong. His tail curled under his legs and his hind legs hunched towards the ground. All four feet shifted over the short grass, wanting to run, knowing not to run, and fiercely caught in the terrible cage of self-doubt.

Nothing—no secret message, no excuse, no nothing. Max stared at her, face all scrunched up, chest rising and falling with a rush of doubt and, deeper than that, anger. His ears fell back, then went high, but he was still crouched low, still showing that he knew what he was doing was bad, but he couldn’t stop.

“It’s not fair,” he said, his voice twisting to a higher, desperate whine. This ended as suddenly as it had begun, when the anger rushed in like a red tide. “He should have told me. Why would he do that? I thought he cared about me. Why would he leave? Why would he do this to us?” Me. He looked up at her, desperate, needy, the aggression and hatred on his face all too obvious. It wasn’t for her; he hated Ezekiel for what he had done, and he hated himself for not being good enough to be considered vital to the de le Poer’s plans.

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