Its not that Simple

Heath morte dre Soul · 06-03-2010, 12:49 PM

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Heath wondered if his old pack had believed in such a thing. He had been a brash and foolish youth, the scars of his chest, hand and face told any one that, and he had ignored most of the teachings that had been spread through the group. He had taken the time to learn the human’s written word at least, but anything else was long forgotten and likely just ignored.

But still Heath listened, intent on knowing what she thought about living a life without a mother, knowing himself what it was to do so. It was sad story, for Heath had known his own. Yet he wondered what was worse, to know her and then have her taken away or to have never known her at all. His own memories were drifting away, dwindling and loosing strength. There were being replaced by the ones he made now, ones of happier times and things that he would have to fight to forget if he ever wished to.

My mother died, when I was young. He spoke, stretching out his own experience in hopes of showing his understanding. There was an obvious sadness in his tone, something that Heath was unsure if she had ever seen from him. It was normal for him to turn angry at such thoughts, not show weakness through sorrow. Maybe they just needed something to believe in. he spoke with a shrug, ignorant that it had been full of ill will and poisoned power.

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