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Uncontrolled shivers ran down Trent's spine as he remembered five days ago. He had not been himself since that day. Trent had always been different, somehow, from the day he had been born. He wasn't different in any history-book, world-changing manner; if only. He was different in the weird kind of way, the 'oh dear, there goes Ann and Myler's boy again' kind of way. Trent would've thought things would get better as soon as he was away from all of it, as soon as he was out of his parents' grasp and their obsession about heritage. He was the last remaining son carrying the Crawford name, but Trent cared nothing for it. Besides, he wasn't even a pureblood. What female of high standing would've even wanted him? That was something to be grateful for, at least. Trent had no urge to produce any heirs. He wanted a family, but not the way his parents had it in mind for him. Now, as evening fell, the awkward two-year-old stood and watched out over the lands that lay on the other side of it. He had smelled others nearby, but Trent had not yet gathered the courage to check out what lay in store for him there. He'd probably end up pacing up and down outside Inferni lands and eventually go around it with a huge bend. He needed a pack, but unfortunately Trent's cowardice ran deeper than his urge to get some meat on his bones. Shivers continued to run through his body as Trent continued to feel strange and out of place, like something big was coming. He just didn't know what it was yet. The wind danced through the lone wolf's fur as darkness surrounded him and hardened, grey eyes stared out over the lands on the other side of the water dreamily. He was too much of a coward to but visit the nearby pack lands, but he could dream of visiting those on the other side of this patch of ocean. Trent could almost hear his mother's disapproving tut-tutting in his ears. |