05-21-2008, 05:10 PM
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Set in Whisper Beach.
indent It had been nine days. Nine days of rain and nothing but a mindless, vicious fury. Gabriel remembered killing—he remembered that very clearly. His count had risen since he and his cousin had struck out. Since then, he had been a man possessed. There was little sleep. Each night he woke from frantic nightmares, writhing, screaming. He had not returned home because of this. He could not afford for Inferni to know their leader was starting to tear at the seams. He was fine. He was fine.
indent The more he told himself this, the less real it seemed. He believed in the path set before him, and in God’s will. Where the rosary around his neck had come from he did not remember—it bore both the cross and a relic of Saint Christopher. It was not his own life he prayed for, but that of his family. Each day, the threats seemed to be growing far realer. Each day, he came a little closer to finding the man who had begun this war. Each day, he lost himself a little more to the history of his blood. No more did Gabriel consider this a simple territory dispute, a matter of neighbors being un-neighborly. This had evolved into a holy war, warped in his mind, a war he would settle with God’s fire and God’s sword.
indent Gabriel sat in silence, staring at the ocean ahead of him. The wind toyed with his fur, and by all accounts he might have resembled a lost dog, waiting diligently for its owner to return home from across the sea. He was waiting, but not for that. He was waiting for the Voice, for the moment to strike, to end this as he had ended the land over the mountain.
indent It had been nine days. Nine days of rain and nothing but a mindless, vicious fury. Gabriel remembered killing—he remembered that very clearly. His count had risen since he and his cousin had struck out. Since then, he had been a man possessed. There was little sleep. Each night he woke from frantic nightmares, writhing, screaming. He had not returned home because of this. He could not afford for Inferni to know their leader was starting to tear at the seams. He was fine. He was fine.
indent The more he told himself this, the less real it seemed. He believed in the path set before him, and in God’s will. Where the rosary around his neck had come from he did not remember—it bore both the cross and a relic of Saint Christopher. It was not his own life he prayed for, but that of his family. Each day, the threats seemed to be growing far realer. Each day, he came a little closer to finding the man who had begun this war. Each day, he lost himself a little more to the history of his blood. No more did Gabriel consider this a simple territory dispute, a matter of neighbors being un-neighborly. This had evolved into a holy war, warped in his mind, a war he would settle with God’s fire and God’s sword.
indent Gabriel sat in silence, staring at the ocean ahead of him. The wind toyed with his fur, and by all accounts he might have resembled a lost dog, waiting diligently for its owner to return home from across the sea. He was waiting, but not for that. He was waiting for the Voice, for the moment to strike, to end this as he had ended the land over the mountain.