Post by Tohrment, Son of Hharm on Mar 31, 2012 17:45:44 GMT -5
His sleep was going to shit again, and he knew why. Summer was coming and that meant, another year and so many months, weeks, hours and minutes since Wellsie was taken from his life.
He was better, yes, he knew it. He was back and well, and even had some enjoyment with Chosen No'One. But he was a great liar to himself.
Whereas his outside was robust and healthy, thankful to the quiet, gentle chosen granting him the honor of feeding from her vein, his head, was a mess.
As his feet tortured the groaning treadmill beneath them, turned on high and incline for hours, he took no mercy on it.
He had to get himself to the point of utter exhaustion, if sleep even had a chance.
Rotations were called off for the night, as the opening of Safe Place was taking place. But that did not mean the Brotherhood was going to have an easy, relaxing night.
No. With the Bastards being an issue, the lessers becoming less and less predictable and the transporation of getting the females and young from his home in Caldwell, where they were housed after the former SP burned down, to the new SP, his mind was spinning with all the tactical details needed to make sure it went off without a hitch, with no flaws that could lead to chaos or worse, injury and death.
He knew Chosen was not joining the ceremonies, still unsure of her role, her standing...and most of all, his feelings for her.
What could a hellren say who was in love with a shellan long gone from this life?
Not a fucking thing.
He had never lied to her, and despite Lassiters constant battering for him to move on, he was trying.
But his heart was planted right where it wanted to be.
In the past.
He was better, yes, he knew it. He was back and well, and even had some enjoyment with Chosen No'One. But he was a great liar to himself.
Whereas his outside was robust and healthy, thankful to the quiet, gentle chosen granting him the honor of feeding from her vein, his head, was a mess.
As his feet tortured the groaning treadmill beneath them, turned on high and incline for hours, he took no mercy on it.
He had to get himself to the point of utter exhaustion, if sleep even had a chance.
Rotations were called off for the night, as the opening of Safe Place was taking place. But that did not mean the Brotherhood was going to have an easy, relaxing night.
No. With the Bastards being an issue, the lessers becoming less and less predictable and the transporation of getting the females and young from his home in Caldwell, where they were housed after the former SP burned down, to the new SP, his mind was spinning with all the tactical details needed to make sure it went off without a hitch, with no flaws that could lead to chaos or worse, injury and death.
He knew Chosen was not joining the ceremonies, still unsure of her role, her standing...and most of all, his feelings for her.
What could a hellren say who was in love with a shellan long gone from this life?
Not a fucking thing.
He had never lied to her, and despite Lassiters constant battering for him to move on, he was trying.
But his heart was planted right where it wanted to be.
In the past.
