So he goes hunting, but even that doesn't help. The ritual of waiting, moving, stalking and springing doesn't do anything to soothe him. He stands in the snow with his breath a cloud in front of his face and he listens to his heart beat, unsure of any word for what he's feeling. He's lost a lot. Maybe more than this, before. Maybe he shouldn't be ( Read more... )

The tree is still blooming and it's still raining. The wind's lashed the branches, scattering hundreds of flowers onto the ground around it, and with a carpet of white it looks like an early winter has come to this little corner of the jungle. Which is almost funny, considering ( Read more... )

He's not sure he's ever had so much happen in one week. Neil, the twins, this, and he's been here for two years. Two fucking years. And there's still more to say than he can even get his brain around ( Read more... )