...hope remains.

Gunnar Donte LeStrange · 01-17-2012, 08:18 PM

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[000] - Open for anyone, really. ;D Gunnar's angryface.

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Anger.

It was an emotion he hadn't been expecting at all, lately. He'd come home from his trip out to Salsola relatively unharmed, an easy three days of healing without anyone noticing... after all, he always limped anyway. Not as if anyone would notice a little wince here and there, especially with the cold weather finally settled in around them. Sore joints, was all... right? Heh.

But that morning, he'd woken up to a terrible surprise. His bandana, the one his mother had given him, was missing. He figured he'd forgotten to close the door to his room or something, because a stranger's scent was there. Whoever it was, he didn't know them and at first, he feared an intruder.

...the frustration settled in when he realized it wasn't canine. The scent belonged to a rat. It must've stolen it for bedding, which meant he'd never get it back now. That's about the time, some mid-afternoon, when his anger set in. He forced himself outside to the training grounds, if only to save his room from any more damage than already inflicted.

He'd spent the last hour or so there, grunting and growling as he pounded and swung at the training dummies there, teeth bared and pain ignored. His weapon of choice? A crude staff of sorts, or rather, a thick branch... the third one he'd found. The other two lay broken, one shattered, off to the side. The dummie was looking worse for wear.

With a particularly hard swing, the third 'staff' finally snapped, splintering into fragments that went flying in all directions, the broken end of the stick twirling a few feet and hitting against a tree before falling to the ground. He held the longer end of it in his hands till, breathing, glaring at the beaten dummie, imagining it to have a rat's face on its wooden shoulders. This was his last stick.

He threw the broken stalk of wood to the ground in a huff and rumbled angrily, turning sharply and moving over to a nearby fence post, leaning against it and crossing his arms sourly. The sun, off in the distance, was finally setting and so was his temper. Those cold eyes never left the practice dummie he'd pounded and beaten on all afternoon, but his mind eventually gave into the exhaustion his body felt and the anger faded away. A treasure lost, but at least it wasn't a someone...

...why wasn't she there? Gunnar thought bitterly to himself, his mind going back to the woman who'd given him the bandana in the first place. She loved those caves and tunnels. Why would she have left? A voice in the back of his head told him it was his fault, that he'd abandoned her just to get away from the brat called Esme.

...he shook his head and slid down into a sitting position, holding the sides of his face and growling. Esme would've killed me if I hadn't left. I didn't abandon her. I would've come back sooner if I'd known it was safe again... Dark hands slid down away from his face and he looked out across at the horizon, a tired expression replacing the anger and frustration from before. ...I would've brought her home.

Where the hell did you go, Mom? Whispered words. Somewhere, deep down, he'd realized it a long time ago, but had refused to admit it to himself. Valinta was dead. Somewhere down the line, she'd died, leaving him a true orphan. He had a family on the way, in a sense; his lovely Fia and her own family were more than happy to take him in (except for her brothers, who seemed to want him gone half the time), but... was he really ready to live without her? To go without his Mother's comforting words whenever he needed them? ...Oh, for fuck sakes, Gunnar. Grow up. He'd just have to suck it up and deal with it... after all, it was his turn to protect Fia and Casa di Cavalieri from danger, right? Right.

...but how?

Coding by the Mentors!

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