"oh, it would've been, could've been"
c i l l i a n
Long, rambling strides propelled Cillian after his uncles. This new land still made him uneasy, but the instinctual bond between a wolf and his pack was yet unbreakable. And Cillian himself was, after all, only a wolf.
It wasn’t long before the scents of many others of his kind reached Cillian’s nose. And soon the wolves themselves were visible, hopping and darting through a field. The reason seems to be a plethora of young hares bounding away from the predators, spooked from their warrens by the gathering of so many enemies. The rest of his small pack quickly immersed themselves among the fray, swiftly making their kills. Cillian, however, remained a wallflower. He trotted nervously near the edges of the free-for-all, hovering with the others who seemed enticed yet anxious about the hunt.
He passed a few of his kind as he went; a silver she wolf reveling in her kill, a white pup dancing carelessly across the field, a gray male looking sick to his stomach. Cillian’s staring salmon eyes drifted over them like smoke, lingering just slightly too long on each individual. He finally stopped his pacing, choosing to simply stand in the taller of the grass, dark, stark, and skinny. Barely moving save for his breath; a scarecrow.
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"worse than you would ever know"
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