Carathon sat up, rubbing the back of his head. He glanced around to make sure Ozracles was nowhere about, then crept off. He spent the night sitting in a tree, hugging his knees close to his rag covered chest. What had he done wrong? all he wanted was to be accepted, to fit in. He was clean, he worked hard and he only spoke when spoken to. Why did they still treat him like an outcast?
Carathon remembered his wild roots. He had fitted in among the wild pack of foxes and wolves that had brought him up. that was why he didn't fit among humans, but he was yet to work that out. Carathon turned his face towards the moon and let out a long, mournful howl that echoed through the still night.
I see what this is Cim! A quest for power! Ozracles doesn't feel in charge so he bullies Carathon to make himself seem powerful! Sussed you out lol!
__________________
If nature made you a giver, you are born with your hands and heart open, and though your hands may sometimes be empty, your heart is always full, and you can give things out of that.
|