greyeyedmessiah

Harper was there.... He was the one who searched for Oliver, took him in and helped him regain some semblance of his mortality, in confinement.... Harper stood metres from him, the urgency in his eyes reinforced the soul crushing defeat weighing down... "Oliver, leave." he pressured in a calm even tone. There was a slight break in his voice as he steped forward with a steelly glance at the heaps around Oliver.... He recognised this as a result of of the blood. But Harper's years of learning control allowed him to overstep the craving and act on the moment.... Hearing the break in Harper's voice further increased the the weight of his wor

He stands helpless as the full weight of his actions bares down, surounded by the white corpses... Footsteps crunch quietly from behind... The beast returns in an instant. 180 turn into crouch, fangs bared, fingers arched as talons, a deep feral growl rumbles from the deep chest into the dark moonless night.... A tall, athletic, blonde man cautiously approches. Clad only in a tight fitting T, unbuttoned pale grey shirt rolled at the elbows, black straight cut jeans and black converse. Severely out of place in the harsh winter extreme. Those bright keen eyes miss nothing.... "Oliver, Stop." he says with an uplifted palm. No condensation

He stands in the wilderness, blood soaked, tear streaked face, lifeless bodies of the countless pock the natural winter beauty... Their forms half burried in winters slurry of mud and snow... It makes them look more dead... Violent shudders rock through him. Its not the cold, he doesnt feel the cold... The beast has retreated back into the recesses of thought and he returned. The quaking is full realisation of the atrocity he has committed both knowing and unknowingly...