05-26-2010, 01:20 AM
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He imagined he saw pain in her face. Or perhaps disappointment. He felt regret for his actions, for taking her as he had and carrying her through the storm. Gabriel was still yet a beast, and he still had needs. It was his conscious, which had always demanded him obey that peculiar morality that he followed, that reared up and demanded penitence. In his heart he did not wish this burden on her, and in his head he was reeling.
Her answer was vague, and it did not settle him. Yet he was still. He had become such a stagnant creature since the war. Gabriel was tired. The rain made his shoulder ache and filled his home with empty noise. Often he slept but this sleep was restless and left him feeling more tired then before. Both ears swiveled to form a black crown atop his head at her voice, and he read what she was not saying. “They, and you, will always be welcome to call on me,” But. That inevitable and dreadful but. “, but Inferni brings trouble.” He paused and spared a glance south, to where a burnt scar cut into what had once been his home. Snake had nearly died during that fire. They had lost so many in such a senseless war. More had been wounded deeper then death, though, and this he could not forgive.
“I’ll do what I can for you. I’ll come to your home when I can. But until they are grown, don’t bring them here.” For our enemies are vast and the world is cruel. He knew this in his heart. He could not forget his sister’s pain, his mother’s agony, the terror in his daughter’s face, or the absolute hatred in his son’s eyes. Wolves were the enemy. Perhaps they always would be. “Your trees will protect them better then I can,” he added softly, and a sad smile came over his face, softening the stone and aging him remarkably.
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He imagined he saw pain in her face. Or perhaps disappointment. He felt regret for his actions, for taking her as he had and carrying her through the storm. Gabriel was still yet a beast, and he still had needs. It was his conscious, which had always demanded him obey that peculiar morality that he followed, that reared up and demanded penitence. In his heart he did not wish this burden on her, and in his head he was reeling.
Her answer was vague, and it did not settle him. Yet he was still. He had become such a stagnant creature since the war. Gabriel was tired. The rain made his shoulder ache and filled his home with empty noise. Often he slept but this sleep was restless and left him feeling more tired then before. Both ears swiveled to form a black crown atop his head at her voice, and he read what she was not saying. “They, and you, will always be welcome to call on me,” But. That inevitable and dreadful but. “, but Inferni brings trouble.” He paused and spared a glance south, to where a burnt scar cut into what had once been his home. Snake had nearly died during that fire. They had lost so many in such a senseless war. More had been wounded deeper then death, though, and this he could not forgive.
“I’ll do what I can for you. I’ll come to your home when I can. But until they are grown, don’t bring them here.” For our enemies are vast and the world is cruel. He knew this in his heart. He could not forget his sister’s pain, his mother’s agony, the terror in his daughter’s face, or the absolute hatred in his son’s eyes. Wolves were the enemy. Perhaps they always would be. “Your trees will protect them better then I can,” he added softly, and a sad smile came over his face, softening the stone and aging him remarkably.