• User Image - Blocked by "Display Image" Settings. Click to show.

    Of all the terrible things we must learn of in this life, the most severe truth is that no matter how unstoppable a love is, it will always face its demise in the death of its bearers.



    Preface:


    A late summer wind blew across the small boy’s face, a reminder of his warm fun in the cornfields this season that was soon to end. He had never before dreaded the start of a new season, but with it came the loss of his lifelong home. All he had ever known was encapsulated within the boundaries of a forest of tall trees – he was yet too small for adventuring out of the village limits. He sighed and fell back into the great, sandy-coloured haystack that he was nested on. Why did the grown ups have to go to war? Wasn’t fighting a childish habit that was discouraged? Hadn’t he often seen the more rowdy children scolded for bringing claws and teeth into a dispute of words? If these rules applied to the younglings, then why did their enforcers so often lapse in their self-control?
    The sun was warm against his back as he snuggled more deeply into the coarse straw. The action of the past few days had worn his small body beyond repair even with the large quantities of sleep he was allowed. It was embarrassing to be considered the weakling runt of his pack, the thorn in their side. It hurt to be teased endlessly by ill-formed jokes, and to be the object of others whispered conversations.
    The little boy banged his head into the straw. What was the use of bothering with such things now when all the children and their weakest caregivers were about to be moved deeper into the forest, into the confines of an ancient temple of sanctuary. The boy had to admit - it was exciting.
    After so many years of being confined to the village, unable to follow the other younglings in their training, he was finally to be let out into the lush green foliage. And to trave l to the Great Temple on his first outing! How exciting! He only wished that it could have been under better circumstances.
    He sighed once again as he rolled onto his back, hands under his head as a neck support. He was tired of staring at clouds. The boy sat up slowly, his body reluctantly following the orders it was issued. As he was about to jump from the bale, a strange scent caught in his nostrils. It was still far off, but coming closer at an inhuman rate. It smelt of danger.
    The boy wanted to jump from the bale; wanted to warn the other villagers; to help. But he found himself frozen in a position of fear - unable to move or call for aid. Unable to stop the Wolfes from coming.
    He watched in a position of utter horror as a large pack of his clan’s mortal enemies came charging through his village, the large shaggy bodies of their warriors easily knocking over buildings at a time and the human forms of their mages unleashing powerful spells of destruction upon the unsuspecting citizens. But the thing he noticed most was the pure bloodlust in the red eyes of the one that was obviously their leader. He was tall and broad, a bred warrior with thick, flame-red hair that fell unobstructed to his knees, with a tail twice as long and a large scar covering his left eye. And as the boy watched this man slay his father, an molest his unwilling mother before handing her the same fate as her husband before her, he vowed to become stronger – stronger than any of his clan, stronger than any of his race, stronger than that b*****d. For, surely, if he became stronger than all of them, he would be able to annihilate every single last one.