Wed Sep 30, 2015 10:33 pm
To say William was calm in the storm of conflict was an absolute lie. He was not calm in any sense of the word. He was very much in a state of panic. He hated all of the fighting. He hated people carving each other up then coming back. Then after getting healed they went out and got carved up again. He refused to stimulate more anger through violence. He was a martial pacifist. He would heal anyone he came across.
He would help clan members if injured. He would help literally anyone. Although whether or not he liked the individual mattered little considering he wanted to give a good kind name to a strained pack. Nothing felt right. Still today he took a break from it all. He sat down not with a piece of truly thought provoking literature but something simple. He opened the book from a mother. A feathered and billed mother.
A mother not canine or human. She was Mother Goose. Here he sat reading each story and rhyme he came across allowing lack luster poetry soothe his aching cranium. This conflict was hell but the simple joys of Mother Goose were heaven.