With patience wrongs are turned right
#12
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[/html] Even as he raised his arms to fend off her attacks, he felt her teeth meet his flesh once more. Again, she drew her teeth in long marks across his arms. She cut a long gash down the length of his left forearm as he held it up to protect himself. Now, this chest, shoulders, arms and hands were covered in the marks of her brutality. He yanked himself backward and gave himself a wide berth from the prisoner. Why had she attacked him? He still didn't understand any of it. And now, he was really crying. He was a sobbing mess; his tears mingled freely with the blood, matting his pale fur and clumping around the freckled spottish tan fur on his cheeks.

She too stepped back and then demanded of him the one thing he would never give her: peace and quiet. He had come to help her, but what had he really done? He stared at her defiantly, finding renewed power through his bone-crushing sadness. He had done nothing to hurt her, and yet she had hated him right from the beginning. He knew there was something horrible about himself because no one seemed to like him. So, if she wanted him to leave, he would stay here bleeding all over the hut.

"N-n-no," he responded as he raised his head a bit. He held onto each elbow with the opposing hand, clutching them in a way he hoped to hold them together. He was afraid they would just fall apart into tatters if he did not. "I w-w-wo-on't luh-lea-hea-ave y-yuh-you," he choked out through sobs. [html]
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