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qethnehzul · 5 years

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The Softest Snow

[4233 Words. Version w/Dovahzul can be found on Ao3

Krosis makes a last stand for the remains of his followers, and reminisces on the things past.

Characters: Krosis, Gruthrathlir

Warnings: Character Death, Violence]

The crying of babies was quieter today. While normally Krosis would be relieved, it was a bad sign. There were fewer now, and the realization made his chest grow tighter with each passing day. They couldn’t keep this up.

Krosis trudged through the snow, staff clenched tightly in one hand and the strap of a bag in the other. Around him shuffled the remains of his loyal - men, woman, and children who had followed him in hopes of sanctuary. Somewhere. Anywhere. The Dragon War had taken their homes from them, and the lives of many of their family and friends. The cold, the exposure, starvation… and the hunters took many, many more in the following years.

Who was even left anymore?

Krosis’s eyes wearily scanned their surroundings. They had managed to wander back around to familiar territory, somewhere within the Pale. Mountains stretched up on either side, which thankfully blocked the worst of the winds… for now. A thick forest of pine trees lined the northern front, but for now they avoided it. The forest was dark, dangerous, and hard to navigate. And on top of that, it was a place that Gruthrathlir couldn’t follow.

Their patron dragon darted in and out of the clouds above, his shadow often the only sign that he had yet to abandon them. Every now and then, people dared to glance up, praying to catch just a glimpse of their guardian above. If it hadn’t been for him… many weren’t sure if they would still be there.

Krosis adjusted the bag, feeling an ache in his bones. They’d been walking for weeks now, from dawn to dusk, from one point to another. They had already been chased out of their own home and had fled west in hopes of finding safety - but it hadn’t lasted long. Soon, they were being chased back east, and more and more of their numbers thinned. Each dawn brought a new death toll, and people wept as the bodies of loved ones were left in the snow, unable to be given a proper burial. It made Krosis’s heart ache. He could do nothing for his people - nothing but continuing to herd them to an unknown fate.

He hadn’t heard from any of the other priests in months. The last person he’d reached contact with was Volsung, when they’d been in her old territory - but where she was, how she was doing, and if she was still alive was beyond him. Those who remained clung to every last available threads.

So many were gone. The temple. The dragons. His people. His friends.

Krosis let out a heavy exhale, the condensation seeping through the mouth of his mask. And still, they were hunted. Hounded. Chased. His people had gone from thousands to less than 200 - a feeble stretch of worn and tired faithful trying to walk through the knee-deep snow to the mountain pass ahead. And then what? To where? To what life? A life of hiding? A life of running? He, Krosis, a high-ranking priest of the temple, was walking beside them carrying his own bag. Years ago, when things had been okay, nobody would have believed that. Krosis may not have been as full of himself as his peers, but this… was unheard of. He had been a king. Gruthrathlir had been a god.

And now they were vermin to be exterminated.

Things would never be the same again. The other priests… he would never see them again either. He knew for certain that most of them were dead already. Who was left? Who were the ones he’d at least heard from in the past year or so? Volsung, Rahgot, Vokun, Klo and Zaan. They were still alive, at least a year ago. 6 of them total. And at one point, there had been 25 of them.

Krosis’s face turned bitter behind his mask. Before that day. Before he betrayed them.

The thought still made what little bile his body could manage boil up in the back of his throat. Miraak… his Miraak…

No, not his Miraak. He had not been his Miraak in decades. He’d left that all behind - Or at least, he wanted to think he had. But ultimately, wasn’t this all his fault? All his cause? The rebellion? The dragon’s downfall? Miraak had sparked all of it, when he’d gone and gotten himself tangled up with the Woodland Man and sought to enslave their gods.

What would he have thought, if he could see what he’d done?

Krosis scoffed quietly.

Nothing, no doubt. He stopped caring, as far as Krosis could tell. After all, what was the last thing he’d said to him?

Krosis could remember.

Two… no… maybe even three decades of being together. Of visiting in secret, of planning meetings to see one another, of dodging danger just for a moment to embrace-

And then suddenly, it began to stop. Miraak had changed. The man he knew so deeply, loved so deeply, was not the same anymore. He was paranoid, distant, detached. Faithless. Those meetings, their letters, the long nights - they slowly petered out. The letters felt empty. Embracing him felt like holding a corpse. Miraak stopped visiting him, holding himself up in Solstheim. His letters grew shorter, less interested.

Dukaan, Ahzidal, and Zahkriisos. They were Miraak’s close companions. He remembered that, he saw that. They were the only ones he talked to now. Even at meetings, Miraak pretended like he wasn’t there. After decades of just dancing around interactions until they were in private, Miraak wouldn’t even acknowledge him - in public or in private. And Zahkriisos…

The thought always made his stomach churn. The way she wrapped her arms around his shoulders, talked to him, postured around him…

And did Miraak stop it? No. Never once.

‘Miraak? Do you wish to be with Zahkriisos instead? I have… seen how she acts around you. If I am no longer of interest to you, please tell me.’

That letter had pained him to write. Every stroke of the brush made him feel like it was being carved into his very skin.

‘Zahkriisos? No. I am not. I do not care for her.’

That was it. He hadn’t even answered the second part of the question. He was avoiding it. There was never any answer about what was becoming of them. They, they, just stopped being a thing. Stopped, without any word on the matter. Not why. Not when.

One day, something had happened. And Miraak was not Miraak anymore.

Almost three decades had suddenly stopped meaning anything. Plans, ideas, habits, all of that meant nothing one day.

Krosis had pushed it off, waiting, hoping, praying for any answer, any change. Of course, it never came. He just watched Miraak grow more and more distance. The letters just became shorter and more inconsistent. Empty. Hollow. Pointless. They stopped being about things that mattered, things they cared for, things about their plans. Pointless drabble. Filler just to keep the letters flowing, if only just.

No matter how many times he’d tried to write it, each time brought tears to his face. He could not stop them from warping the paper and splattering the ink. He’d rewritten it over and over again, but each time the result was the same. Why wouldn’t it be? Two and a half decades. And this was how it was going to end.

‘To my dearest Miraak,

This is the last letter I will be sending you. I understand that, for whatever reasons, you have grown tired of me. I do not know what it is that I have done wrong, but I see you show no interest in continuing this. In us. And I cannot bear this any longer.

I wish this could have ended differently. But I wish you luck. In whatever it is you are focused on now.

Farewell, Miraak. Perhaps your future will bring you more happiness then I had.

-Nonvul’

When his hawk returned, there was a scroll of paper attached. It was small, and it took Krosis all his courage to take it and unroll it. And for what?

Just a stamp. Miraak’s stamp. Nothing more. A acknowledgement that he’d received the message.

Two and a half decades.

Krosis remembered holding the paper in his hands. He remembered how badly his hands had shaken, just looking down at the simple symbol stamped onto the page in patchy black ink.

Two and a half decades, and all Miraak had said in ending it was a single stamp.

Krosis had thrown it into the fire. The tiny paper couldn’t even finish shriveling away to ash before Krosis broke down again.

Krosis. Your name is Krosis. You are Krosis.

Nonvul was stripped away from him. Noble. Honorable.

What a sick joke.

‘We have decided, in reflection of the past few years, that it would be proper to reevaluate that in which you are named.’

Krosis.

Not Nonvul.

In the ashes and wake of everything Miraak had done, it was one more insult. One more bitter, painful reminder.

Maybe before everything, others would have disagreed. But they had agreed. Oh, Krosis remembered. They had bitterly agreed. Miraak, Ahzidal, Dukaan, Zahkriisos. They had betrayed them, no matter how close. No mistakes like that would be made again.

There would be no more friendships. No more risks.

Krosis.

Sorrow. Unfortunate. Apologies.

The words stuck to the back of his throat.

He was Krosis.

Sorrow. Krosis’s tired eyes lifted from his thoughts. His people were ragged and thin. They were dying. He herded them forward to a long, slow, hopeless death. He knew that. He and Gruthrathlir had talked about it in length, as they looked down on the ever-shrinking camps of followers. There were few places to go. Many had already fled. Many had already accepted their fates. Krosis had fought to believe that there would be some hope, somewhere, for his people. Now he knew that there would be no such thing.

And in the depths of winter, he could see the end. Each day they marched closer to it. Would it be kinder, to ask the people to lay down and accept death? Was it cruel to promise them hope of salvation and sanctuary, when he knew it did not exist any longer?

Volsung was holding out. She had not disclosed where she and her followers had wound up, and Krosis would not ask her about it. It was too risky. If any message was intercepted, he could put Volsung and her people in danger.

They were a vermin that needed to be exterminated.

Miraak had started a rebellion against the dragons and their worshippers.

Miraak was going to kill him, one way or another.

“Sonaak Krosis!”

Krosis lifted his gaze again, squinting through the snow that drifted downward. A ragged man, panting, exhausted, managed to stumble through the snow towards the dragon priest. People watched him fearfully, women pulling children closer and people exchanging soft chitter of worry.

“Yes? Is something wrong?” Krosis spoke, his voice cracking after so much silence and so little water.

The man stopped just before Krosis, shaking badly as he panted. “They’re just behind us. They’re catching up. A-at least fifty, if not… if not more. Armed. All armed,” the man said, his voice almost sounding hysteric.

Krosis looked back over his shoulder. Their pursuers hadn’t broken the ridge behind them yet, but he did not doubt this man’s words. He knew they were being followed. They all knew. It was just a matter of time before they caught up again. Krosis looked back to the man.

The man stared, brown eyes wide, tired, looking for an answer. Even the strongest, healthiest of them had gaunt cheeks, scabs, frostbite. Nobody here was in any condition to fight. The others who had slowed to listen looked to Krosis for some sort of miracle.

“Gather everyone. Head for the pass as quickly as you can. Once everyone is through, you must collapse it so they will have to reroute,” Krosis ordered, his voice low. He slid his bag off his shoulder, letting it fall into the snow with a heavy, muffled thud. He held out the strap of it to the man, who stared at him with confusion. “...I will stay here. I will hold them off as long as I can. Do not wait for me. If I am to rejoin you, I will find my own way.”

The man took a step back. “Sonaak Krosis, we can’t-”

“You can, and you will,” Krosis ordered, urging the man to take his belongings. “Go. Hurry. You don’t have time to waste.”

Soft murmuring shifted between the few around before one by one they picked up their pace. The scout frowned, eyes full of pain before he nodded and reached out to take Krosis’s bag. “Where shall we go?” He asked quietly.

Krosis straightened himself out. “Keep heading east. Head for the pass at the north end of mountains. There… they may leave you alone then,” Krosis said softly. He knew that he could not guarantee that. He knew they wouldn’t even make it to the mouth of the White River.

The man gave a bow, closing his eyes tightly. “Thank you. Please return to us, Sonaak Krosis,” he said, giving Krosis one more worried look before turning to gather up the others.

Krosis watched the man run through the snow, leaving him alone. People ahead started to pick up their pace, gathering together. Babies began to cry. He could hear the panic. Krosis tilted his head back as a shadow passed overhead.

Gruthrathlir slowly descended down, coming to land in the snow bank a few feet from him. His black spines bristled, looking down the valley in the direction they’d come from. “...You will not run?”

Krosis followed Gruthrathlir’s gaze, seeing the very tops of banners start to speckle the horizon. Slowly, he shook his head. “No. They will not reach the pass if I do.”

The wind picked up, making snow drift sideways for a few moments. Gruthrathlir slowly lumbered over to Krosis, scales bristling. “You do this, even if you know they will die anyways?”

Krosis closed his eyes. No. They would not make it. Even if they made it through the pass, they would slowly die of exposure.

Years ago, he knew his body would have been buried in a tomb as a king, tended to for the rest of time by loyal servants. He snorted to himself. Now he would be lucky if the ravens picked at his corpse before it froze over to be lost in the snow.

“We have to face this fate someday. I am ready.”

The dragon’s white scales rattled as he let out a low rumble. The two stood in silence, watching their pursuers slowly approach on the horizon. Krosis could seem them readying for battle, no doubt only worried because of the dragon. He was one dragon priest. Before, he was feared. But now, alone… he was pitiful.

Krosis turned to look at his patron. “Go. They will fight you if you stay.”

“I know,” Gruthrathlir rumbled, his tail swaying through the snow.

Krosis looked up to the dragon, the shouts of the soldiers ahead echoing now through the air.

Gruthrathlir tilted his head to look down at Krosis. “I will fight beside you until they make the pass. Then… I will bring you to them. Alive, or dead. You will not be left to fight this battle alone.”

“You don’t need to do this, my lord,” Krosis whispered, trying to steel himself. He tightened his fingers around his staff, trying to take a deep breath.

Gruthrathlir chuckled, frost curling from between his sharp teeth. “No, I don’t. Yet, I am. To the end.”

Krosis wanted nothing more then to reach out and brush the scales of his companion one last time, but he didn’t dare. Not before the men only a few dragon’s lengths from them. “May your reign last forever, my lord. It was my honor to serve you,” he said softly, pulling on his magic. He pulled on the fabric of the world around him, calling forth a frost atronach from beyond to aid him. The golem-like creature rumbled, immediately aware of its targets.

Gruthrathlir spread his wings wide, preparing to take to the sky. “I will see you again, Krosis. This I know. I promise you, as my loyal,” he said, slowly taking to the sky. The snow bloomed around him in a great cloud, making it almost impossible for Krosis to see him as he soared upwards.

Krosis exhaled slowly, casting another spell in preparation. Energy flowed through his skin, before making a dense armor of magic over his skin. Krosis’s focus returned to the armed men. Their leader stepped forward in the group, a man in heavy nordic armor. Krosis could tell he wanted to say something, something snide, but the priest didn’t give him the chance.

Krosis hurled a spear of ice out of his hand. The man jerked to the side, saved by a swipe from one of his allie’s blades. The leader gave Krosis a scowl, before commanding his men forward.

Krosis’s atronach charged forward in return, meeting the wall of men in a clash of metal and ice. Krosis took a step back, swinging his staff around. A giant fireball was let loose from the mouth at the end, exploding on the other side of the front line.

Men shrieked between his attack and the atronach’s assault, but more men pressed forward. A arrow shot forward from the crowd, missing Krosis narrowly.

He couldn’t let them get closer. He took another step back, unleashing a ice storm to try to slow the men down so he could back up a bit more. Another arrow shot through the ice, making contact with his shoulder. It bounced off his ebonyflesh, but the impact still made Krosis wince under his armor.

“Give up, dragon worshiper! You aren’t going to win!” Their leader snarled, using his shield to push through the ice storm.

Krosis narrowed his eyes, but made no response. No, he was not going to win. But he had to buy time. He resisted the urge to look back and check at how far his people had gotten. He summoned up more of his magicka, releasing another ice storm. He just needed to bide them time.

Gruthrathlir suddenly descended from the clouds with a roar, sending some of the less seasoned men scattering in a scream of terror. A stream of ice and a downburst of frigid wind followed him, pelting the men below. The arrows, to Krosis’s relief, turned to try to take down the dragon instead. Most bounced harmlessly off of the dragon’s white scales, but a few found the soft skin between plating.

Krosis grimaced, but he could not help his patron. If Gruthrathlir needed, he could just leave. He owned Krosis nothing.

But Gruthrathlir didn’t. The battle would not last long enough anyways, but it would last as long as Krosis needed it to.

The hunter’s numbers had thinned - much more than they’d anticipated. Krosis assumed that he and Gruthrathlir had at least halved how many their were, but too many still remained. Krosis could feel himself pulling at the bottom of his magicka. He didn’t have enough to summon a third atronach, or cast more ebonyflesh. His last atronach had crumbled, and he had a sinking feeling his ebonyflesh wasn’t going to be too far behind.

Gruthrathlir’s strafes had slowed down, and the last time Krosis had seen the dragon the rivers of blood were apparent on his pale scales. A few times he’d been forced to land, and Krosis feared the dragon himself wouldn’t last much longer. And yet, he fought on too.

Krosis looked back over his shoulder. The last of his people were heading up the pass, soon to make it through the break in the rocks where Krosis prayed they could seal it.

His breath hitched. Pain streaked out through his side, digging deep into his gut. His head snapped forward again, eyes wide as his hand instinctively came down to his side. His fingers brushed against the cold shaft of an arrow, and came back with warm, red blood. He looked at his wound, his hand, before looking back to the people before him.

The next arrow hit his pauldron, bouncing off, but it came with enough force to make his shoulder jerk backwards. Krosis hissed in pain, raising his staff weakly to fire another fireball. Nothing. Even his staff was out of juice.

A weak groan of pain was wrought from his lips at the next arrow, feeling it land in his shoulder. The end of the line was finally here. He pulled on the very last strands of his magicka, using everything he had to cast one more ice storm. Just a bit longer…

Krosis looked back over his shoulder. Only a few lingered, paused as he could only assume they looked down at him. They made it. But for what? To die on the other side…?

What difference did it make? Maybe they would make it anyways.

Another arrow dug into his ribcage, making him stagger back. He tried to take a deep breath, but all he got was pain. He coughed, legs shaking before he turned to face the remaining soldiers. Blood rushed in his ears, and the sound of his own breathing in his mask sounded suddenly so much louder. His mouth tasted like iron, and when he coughed he could feel warm liquid spray from his lips and out of the slit of his mask.

Were they saying something? He could see the leader’s mouth moving, but it all sounded muffled.

Krosis tried to keep his staff pointed at them, exhausted. He had to keep going. Keep them back. Keep his people safe. He was a dragon priest. He would lead them to safety, like he always did, like he promised he would. His vision tunneled and blurred a bit as he struggled to stay standing, not moving back even as his enemies grew closer.

So damn tired. So much walking. So much wandering for nothing.

“Do you think they would allow me to move?”

Miraak glanced over at him, brow arched. “Hm?”

Krosis shrugged, looking back out at the ocean. He leaned forward on the balcony. “Our temples are… so far apart. It is such a great distance to travel to see you. I thought, perhaps, that I might be allowed to relocate.”

Miraak chuckled. “To where?”

Krosis shrugged again. “Somewhere closer.”

Miraak hummed, stroking his beard in thought, though Krosis could tell it was more mocking than serious. “You would have to change spots with Nahkriin, or Haldriin. I must assume that Nahkriin would be… less than interested.”

Krosis snorted. “There are mountains in my territory.”

“Yes, but not nearly as many,” Miraak leaned forward as well, watching a gull drift in the breeze. “What about Gruthrathlir?”

Krosis blinked, before looking out at the ocean as well. “...You mean more to me, Miraak.” Krosis slid his hand across the stone, finding Miraak’s. He tangled his fingers slowly with his lover’s, holding his hand tightly.

Miraak looked down, before moving to place a gentle kiss on Krosis’s temple.

“Do you think there will be a day when we can ever be a family, Miraak?” Krosis asked quietly, leaning into Miraak’s shoulder.

Miraak exhaled slowly, leaning back before resting his cheek on Krosis’s head. “I… I will ensure there will be,” Miraak mumbled, his gaze soft.

For nothing.

Krosis spat up another mouthful of blood, crimson dripping out of the mask’s mouth before slowly dripping down into the white snow below. Splatters of blood already left a trail from where he’d been standing to where he’d ended, his legs just holding.

For nothing. Everything. The mask. His loyalty. His love. His life.

Krosis.

It had been for nothing.

The last arrow embedded itself in his chest, to the left of his armor. His legs finally gave out, and he fell backwards into the snow. Powder drifted up around him as he sunk into the snow, seeing some of it creep up in the blurry edges of his vision. His staff remained in a deathly tight grip, refusing to let it go. His other blood-stained hand lay stretched out to his side.

Gruthrathlir’s shadow circled overhead.

His skin was so warm. Soft. Tangled together in the dim candle light.

Krosis’s eyes grew heavy.

Volsung shook her head, turning away as he pulled his mask back down quickly, cheeks scalding red.

“I saw nothing,” she said flatly, though they both heard the teasing tinge to it.

He’d given Krosis’s side a almost playful squeeze in return.

Why?

The necklace felt heavy around his neck, but warm. He’d been keeping it hidden around his own neck until they were alone. How happy he’d felt.

Suffocating. A weak choke, more iron. Pain, cold, numbing. Dark shadows of people looking down at him.

It had felt heavier when he’d hurled it into the ocean. Watching the splash of the waves. The quiet presence of Vokun at his side.

The people backed away quickly as dark blotches speckled his vision.

Quiet. Peaceful.

Gruthrathlir’s shadow grew closer.

Would he be there?

Closer. Darker.

Did it matter?

Darker.

Nothing.

Black.

There was nothing.

Krosis

#skyrim #skyrim fanfiction #tongues verse - drabble #drabble #writing #warnings:#character death #violence #characters:#krosis #gruthrathlir

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hidingmonster · 7 years

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Part 1: The Orange Moon

I could see the moon outside the window of the car. It was full and beautiful, and i couldnt stop staring at it. The orange- red colors illuminated the night sky in a foggy haze. We had already had a great night, and the whiskey from my Irish coffee was still lingering in my senses. I could still smell the scent of sea water lingering in my nose, sand shifted in my shoes and my hands smelled of the Earth. Everything had been beautiful, our trip to the coast, to Point Lobos had been sucessful and i would remember this day for always. Kota, my fiance, had even bought us some pretty rings from one of the cute boutiques we explored. Mine, a small dark silver ring with a tiny diamond and some small tribal markings in the metal fit my pinky perfectly. I fell in love with it as soon as i picked it up. She picked out a beautiful dark silver ring with three dark pale purple stones encrested on it. It was beautiful and reminded me of her in some strange way. It fit perfectly on her middle finger, decorating her other dark silver ring she also wore. I cherished this day worth something special. Something i would forever hold in a warm part of my heart. Gods forbid anything happen to this ring, id probably lose my shit- Honestly. The drive home was calming. My legs were tired and i couldnt wait to get home and get in our bed and just cuddle my girl and chill for the night. Sadly, we had about another 45 minutes before we were even home, but i didnt mind. I listened quietly as she bantered back and forth with her friend Ace who was driving. Something about the musketeers movie i think, i personally had no idea what they were even talking about but i was too into writting my story to really pay attention. My ears twitched to Kota's yawning in the back seat, "Ugh im getting tired, my eye lids are doing that heavy flutter thing, but nnoooope!" She said as she sat up from slightly laying down. I agreed, i was pretty tired from our adventure too. Thankfully my Wolf was satisfied and wasnt giving me a hard time about going home. She got an adventure out in the woods, a full moon and to see the ocean, it was pretty much perfect for her. But even Wolf was tired and ready for rest. We are what people would call "skinners". We have one specific spirit animal or creature we can shift into, Mine being a pale or black Wolf. On the other hand there were people like Kota, called "Morphers", who could shift into multiple animals or creatures. Kota could shape shift into a Wolverine and a great big Kodiak bear. Others could shift into special creatures or beast depending on who they were or their ancestry. We aren't a very popular form of species, mostly hunted down in the dark days of "witch craft" and other horrific scenes. Me and Kota didnt really know any others like us personally either, though i knew of two i was very good friends with online. Both Wolf skinners just like me, so we sort of bonded that way. Since her Transition a few month ago, Kota's been very connected to her Wolverine skin. Female, but still strong and deadly in every way, and it suited her perfectly. We actually had an appointment soon for her name and gender change through the courts. I could tell how happy she was to finally be able to be herself fully, and i accepted her no other way. She was beautiful, well thought out and totally nerdy But i loved it. We worked perfectly together, and everyone could see it anywhere we went. She was the moonlight at the end of my darkest days, the warmth after being dead numb, and my pleasure after years of pain and suffering. She was my princess and i would die for her if need be. I was proud to call her Mine, and i was proud to be Hers. I focused on the headlights as Ace continued driving, trying to keep myself from letting my eyes close. My legs hurt and my stomach slightly churned in a sick manor. My organs were so sensitive, almost anything would cause them discomfort. City lights appeared over the hill and down the freeway, the sign for San Francisco came and went as we got closer into town. I sighed, relieved, we were almost home thankfully. I had recently moved to California about two years ago after meeting and becoming very close with Kota. We met online about four years prior, when she was still "Iron Bear" and a male persona. She had been going through a break up with her long time partner at the time and was very depressed and sad. I myself was with somewhat of a horrible person at the time, but we still talked online regularly until my partner became jealous and needed all of my attention of every single day. He was an abusive dickhead on all levels, and i stuck it out with that monster for 3 years before Kota helped encourage me to break up with him for my better well being. I was a twisted mess, i trusted no one, felt nothing and cared about no one. The only thing that kept me from killing myself was my 3 month old husky pup named Nova. She was my breath of fresh air, the only thing keeping me tethered to sanity. But then i opened myself to Kota, and we got each other to laugh all night, to care about someone again, to not be heartless monsters anymore, And we learned to feel better. I snapped back to reality as Ace pulled off the freeway and into the Target parkinglot. "Really..?" I laughed. "Yes, i said i was stopping here!" He spouted. He had been searching all over for a Star Treck space ship of some sort. Some sort of collectable he wanted to decorate in his room. I didnt understand, and he hopped out of the car. "Are we home yet?" Kota mumbled from the back seat all tiredly. "No, not yet" i mumbled, and i could hear her settle back into laying down on the things in the back to get comfortable. I stared off into the parking lot, Watching the people come and go from their cars. Wondering which ones were gifted like us. I always assumed the worst, i always do when it comes to humans. I trust no one. The car beeped twice as Ace unlocked the door and shoved his collectable into the back seat with Kota. "Oh so you found it?" I asked laughing. He had been looking for this particular one all over, and couldnt find it anywhere. "Yes i did, shattup" he mocked because he figured id make fun of how nerdy he was for wanting a Star Treck collectable. But hey, people like what they like, im not gonna bash them for it. Back onto the freeway, and finally we were home free. - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -☆- - - - - - Something im working on. Ill add a part 2 soon.

#story #writting #short story #personal #characters #fantasy #shifters #shape shifting #animals #wolves #love #transgender #adventure

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