Eaten with Loneliness

[Skoll]

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I'm sorry things didn't go like you planned. I'm glad you decided to have a thread with me anyway, though. Oh...and the below passages might be hard to understand if you don't know that HawkWind and VoidFane were the same person. Cold winds blew across the place of VoidFane's death, and his great great grandson had inhaled deeply of the gusting air. Some feral poison had been in the old wolf's blood, a baleful fire that had seared away his life and burned through his sanity like candlewax. Skoll had that same poison somewhere in his veins, it had been the push that had set him down his path, that had originally suited him to the life of a warrior. It had been diluted, thank Fenrir; with help he had been able to learn to control the downward spiral each battle, which screamed for him to lose his body to that fury. His mortal shell could become a furnace to that all-consuming fire, but Gronnor--his teacher--had been able to analyze and stem the flow of his unquenchable anger. He lost control seldom, now, a blessing for which he was most grateful. I wonder if your inferno could have been doused, old one. Your life and mine may have been the better for it. That may not have been true, however. Skoll had a singular skill within his family line, he was the only wolf from StoneTree to have ever pursued battle as a profession, even as a career, to have accrued martial skill to a great degree. Alphas past had depended on HawkWind's fury, his gift, to protect their home, StoneTree. The place he had grown up was rife with competition and violence, hunger and rigid codes and rituals that need be followed if the pack were to survive. His mother was the one who had passed the berserker's rage onto him, though he had never seen her descend into the beast that he knew sometimes possessed him. He was grateful that his father, Freyr, had taken the defense of the land upon himself. Her presence was ever in the minds of the neighbors, though, for it was rumored that there once had been a time when she had called upon the blood rage; it had been enough to convince would-be invaders that HawkWind's terrible gift still existed within StoneTree. Deep in thought, unused to exploring his memories of home, he was somewhat startled by the vision he saw next. A tree, set upon by the claws of an apparently aggitated feminine form. A werewolf like him, with her keen hearing and sense of smell, she was probably already aware of him. The eight-foot bronze werewolf stopped, hands at his sides, as he studied what she was doing. He was adorned in scars, tales of his life wandering from battle to battle, a soldier of fortune he had been called once, and his deerskin satchel hung from his hip, carrying two axes, his war-knife, his whittling knife, and his latest carving project. Amber eyes looked to her, wondering if any sort of explanation would be forthcoming, or if she would prefer that he simply leave. "Tree should have thought twice before messing with you, I think. The snarky little bastards never think about the consequences, though. It's how trees get themselves into this kinda trouble." Maybe some casual humor would set this odd scene at ease. ~The lyrics are from the best song ever written.

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