The Fog is Lifted

Heath morte dre Soul · 05-14-2010, 10:48 AM

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He would kill Jac for what he had done to her. It was the only solution to curb the anger that had begun to brew the moment he found that the King had deserted them. It was not the pack that Heath worried for, not the rest were strong enough, they could survive. Hell they had survived as he went out and drunk himself into oblivion and slept around like any average and primal dog. Heath had been able to look past all of his flaws and live with the idea of serving him. But it was only for her sake. Heath would have left long ago if Ruri had not settled his wandering sprit and curbed his youthful rage. He owed her his life, and Jac had threatened to take her from him and even then Heath had been the one to walk away. He had done so, for he knew that hurting the collie male would hurt his beloved and he would have rather kill his own heart then see tears in her eyes. And this is how Jac treated her, throwing her away like a cheep whore and leaving without a word.

There was so little that he could do, so little that could be done for any of them really. The news has been broken to them calmly by the new reining King, and with it her heart had been shattered as well. Heath had tried, had held her as she cried and wiped away the tears that she wept. He had soothed the tattered words that she spoke, not knowing how it was that she would be able to live on without the only one she had known to be a parent to her. Their ties went so deep into the past that Heath could not travel there, and it pained him to think that he could not ease those love lasting aches. And when he could not, Heath had fallen to anger and hate. Never in her presence, never even in their house. But the nights she did not come to their bed were long and sleepless ones. And he had stood in the dark of night, watching as she sat on the couch that had been her closest friend during these tired times.

It was another day, and Heath had yet to give in. There would always be hope for her in his heart, and the male would work until he took his last breath to right the wrong Jac had done her. The bells beyond their front door rang, teased by the warm ocean winds and calling to his ears. He wore his best jeans (though still tattered and weathered) and a new shirt that he had found. It was soft but did not own enough buttons for him to close it around his chest. Stark walked beside him, dark eyes filled with the life that his body seemed to lack in his lazy and slow gait.

He had tried everything else, and he would try again and again. Leaving the horse Heath took the steps to the door in a few hurried leaps and then entered the dark house quietly. The cat they cared for padded up to him, and Heath bent to lift the large feline with an over-sized paw. The orange feline hung in his hand, pleased that Heath would give him any sort of attention and the male pressed him against his chest as he walked into the house. There she sat, curled on the couch that Heath was growing jealous of. Neither males made a sound as they approached the female that they loved duly.

Heath knelt beside her on the hard wooden floor, and the cat jumped to lay beside her, head rubbing against her leg in affection. Gold eyes looked at her face, a hand reach up to cup the cheek in the silence that they had sat in for weeks now. He hated this, hated Jac and hated himself for being inadequate and unable to shield her from all this pain. But there was only love that could be projected in her presence, love that held her held her face as he knelt ready to beg for her to return to him. Amour he called to her, searching for the one that lived inside this sorrowful shell.

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