[html] PROZACS--
PROZACSThe lady's reaction to his suggestion of joining made him feel strangely happy for a brief second. The new alpha's scent was familiar, but it wasn't one Tsunami had ever known personally. It was a good thing, a clean slate, a reason for trying again. Tsunami wanted -- as usual -- everything to work out. Perfect, like the Earth itself, perfect, like his own view of the world. It was hope that fueled this view; long ago had he discarded the rose-coloured glasses. Yes, he would come home, and everything would start again. Come home and begin, he told himself. Come home. The wolf was simultaneously sad and happy, because it was possible to be both at the same time, and even the lady was silent. Home.
PROZACSAnd the story, the words that would quench Tsunami's thirst for knowledge further. Aremys, that was right; the house on the beach, the packlands the pirates had ruled over, Tsunami would always know of it as Syemv. The name was a stamp in his head, and his memory was fuzzy as a newborn puppy. The story wasn't very nice. His story regarding their wild-eyed son hadn't been very nice either, or so he'd thought... but this was worse. He had missed much and Phasma had shouldered a lot without him, and he couldn't shirk the fact he felt some responsibility. Again, a thousand times again -- I should have been there. There was always such pressure to do the right thing, but what was the right thing? When Ire came up again, the mention of his body, Tsunami briefly shut his one good eye as if hiding from the world. If he couldn't see it, it couldn't see him, surely. A child's innocence. It came and went in too short a time to measure. The dark angel had been through so much.
PROZACSIskata? Is she here? So she was still around; hopefully she was doing better than when he had known her. A slave to a monster. Any friend of his deserved better. Mated? That's good news, and he smiled for a second. There were questions pressing on his mind, slowly swelling in his skull until he could no longer avoid them. Phasma... what happened to Ire? How? How did he die? A delicate question, and he almost didn't want to ask. He almost didn't want to know. The truth would hurt a million times more than any truth he could have come up with himself.
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