Wishing I had strength to stand
This is not what I had planned
It's out of my control
Life, Wraith had come to find, was full of surprises. Two years ago, if anyone had asked him where he thought he'd be now, he never would have imagined this. He was leader of a pack. He had the most beautiful mate and a wickedly smart son to bear his name. The ghosts of his past had long since fallen quiet and they no longer dogged his steps. They were scarcely a blip in his memory anymore. When he'd made peace with himself, the ghosts seemed to make peace with him. When he did think of them, it was with fondness rather than guilt.
But even two years ago, the split second decision he was making would have been the same, but for vastly different reasons. Wraith had thought if he did enough good in the world, the ghosts' anger would be appeased. He would have rushed to defend the helpless in the hopes of a far-off, some-day salvation. Now, the reason was more pure.
That was his son.
He'd be damned if he let him come to harm.
Thoughts were spinning in my head
So many things were left unsaid
It's hard to let you go
He would never know what drove the stag from the small stand of trees. Perhaps it simply saw a wolf pup unawares and thought to save its own heirs from the threat. Perhaps it was mad with illness. Whatever the cause, Wraith refused to let it happen.
His shout of warning went unheard. Whatever had captured Cyril's focus was too powerful a draw and he remained ignorant of the charging stag. Wraith broke from the pack, legs moving faster than ever in his life while his lungs burned at the force of his exertion. He had no breath left for shouting any more warnings. He had to get there.
I know how it feels to lie
All I wanna do is trade this life for something new
Holding on to what I haven't got
Their eyes met for a brief moment. He registered the confusion intermixed with alarm on the boy's face. Wraith watched as Cyril made to back pedal, but was far too late to avoid the crash of his father's body against his own that tossed him off his paws.
Off his paws and out of harm's reach.
Nothing could have prepared him for the pain of those antlers piercing his left side. Chest, abdomen, haunch. They buried deep as he, too, was lifted off his paws. The stag lifted Wraith high and shook its head violently to dislodge him from its rack. Whitestone's alpha was thrown to the tundra in a heap.
He did not rise again.
This is not the beginning
Just a voice like a riot
Rocking every revision
But you listen to the tone
And the violent rhythm
Though the words sound steady
Something's empty within them
I'm holding on to what I haven't got