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The Blood War

Chapter nineteen

Growing up, Bone had adored stories of heroes and wolves of the stars. Their smiles bright, eyes alight with wisdom as they padded through their eternal home, visiting descendants within dreams. His mother had always told him of their magical abilities; wolves who possessed powers, who were capable of both protecting the entire mass of wolf humanity, and killing every enemy they had in seconds. “I'll be like them!” he had said in his young years. “I'll be a hero!” And his mother had always laughed and said, “I'm sure you will, my dear. You'll be the bravest of them all.”

Now, as Bone lay collapsed within the arching roots of an oak tree with the residue of tears creasing his face, he felt far from that. Far from a hero; far from anything good. He was a murderer, a mercenary to his demand. He was a destroyer of lives and a thief of hope. He was the villain.

“I tried,” he choked out to himself, his entire body quaking. “I tried to fix things. You saw that I did. But I can’t do anything right, can I? I only make things worse. Nothing I do helps.”

The whisk of a tail sounded beside him. Small, dark paws pattered gently over the dirt as his company sat down beside him. “Do you know what I heard in that sentence?” Nightshade asked him. Bone lifted his head with a heavy sigh, half-glaring up at him without replying.

“I,” he said, ears swiveling. “You said “I” a lot. That’s the problem with you, Bone: you think so much about yourself.” He eased himself down, his dark eyes studying Bone’s face. “You’ve made mistakes. We all have. But you’re always so concerned about yourself- I’ve killed again, I’ve hurt again, I’ve done this again- that you’re blind to others. When your rage takes over, you’re blind; and perhaps when you’re blind is when you truly see.”

“I really hate you ancestors, sometimes,” he growled, narrowing his eyes. His ears folded back in frustration, and Nightshade barked a laugh. “I know,” he agreed, grinning. “We’re so amazingly wise, with our weird ways of saying things.”

Bone sat up, spine stiffening from overuse. “Is that what being dead does to you? Makes you speak in riddles?” He wrinkled his snout. “If that’s the case, I’ll pass, please.”

Nightshade rose to his feet, shaking out his dark, misty pelt. “Look. You’re seven hundred years old. You’re way past changing yourself, but that doesn’t mean you don’t have the chance to change others. You have a very unique opportunity, Bone. You have the chance to save so many lives and help so many wolves. But you have to take that step.

“I’m not telling you to take that leap,” he continued, inclining his eyebrows slightly. “That is your decision and yours alone. But nothing is going to change until you do.” Nightshade dipped his head in goodbye, and his figure shimmered before disappearing. Bone was left alone in the forest, surrounded by birdsong and the chatter of countless insects. He took a deep breath, closed his ice-colored eyes, and collapsed into the dirt to think.

- President Loki

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