Densel struggled against his father's attacks. He fell to his knees, arms pulled behind him in an effortless bind cast by his father's conjured image of a nightmare.
Fear consumed him. This nightmare knew exactly what he hated. If there was one thing in the world Densel couldn't stand, it was being restrained. He had been abused, tortured, and by his own pack no less. He was always angry, but eventually fear and shame overwhelmed him to a point where he couldn't breathe.
Not till he was free again.
A nightmare.
Yes.. Nothing more than a nightmare.
But still; why was he so powerless? Why was he so defenseless? Even in his own state of mind, his own dreams- Why could he not fight back? Not even move?
Why was he so...
Worthless.
'I will NOT beg for mercy!'
"You disgust me." His father sneered, and Densel was floored. He coughed as his father approached him, blackened splatters of his blood on the cold dusty ground. "You cannot possibly be my son. A pleb like you doesn't even deserve death." He growled, and kicked Densel over.
His body moved as though weightless.
Powerless. He parted his lips. "Don't-" He began.
His father stamped across his throat and Densel felt his neck almost breaking from the force his father used to stamp on it. "You're not even worthy to talk to me, mongrel." He snarled, and then he dipped his body closer, speaking in a feral whisper. "Blood doesn't make my family- Power does. You are weak... and absolutely pathetic!" His father increased the pressure on Densel's throat. He coughed desperately as his body fought for release from the pain.
"You're not my fucking son."
Against his will, Densel felt his father's words so deeply that he knew, no matter what, he would always strive to earn his father's approval. And he would always fail.
Always.
"Pathetic."
Densel stiffened for whatever abuse his father was going to perform.
Suddenly, his father retreated, his strong form leaping backwards as a thin, frail figure fell in between them. Densel clutched his throat and took the opportunity of the interruption to get up, but as he approached, his father's figure dissolved into shadows that faded away into the bleak background that was his dreamscape.
He stood up, stumbling momentarily and wiping the blood from the corner of his lips. He didn't know how long he had been engaged in the one-sided battle with his father, but it had been long enough to deplete all of the strength he had.
He collapsed across the girl in his evident struggle against his pain, barely managing to stretch his arms out far enough to prevent his muscled weight from crushing her. He put one hand next to her shoulder and faced her. "Hey." He said softly. His blood streamed down his arm, his hair matted with crimson, and yet he touched her shoulder with a trembling hand. It was gentle and almost questioning.
He took a moment, glaring at his hand before he forcefully made it still. After he was sure he was alright and not about to faint or something equally as... well, womanly, Densel picked her up and carefully cradled her against his knee so that he could take a look at her wings. Her hair fell against his hands, streaming between his fingers like silk.
The gesture made him pause.
Who was this little girl?
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