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<i>Man, does my head hurt,</i> was the first thought that struck him as he opened his eyes. Since arriving back at the Hollow, he had done nothing but sleep. Only vaguely did he remembered being dragged back, or whatever had happened at the borders. Bleeding and exhausted, he had welcomed sleep with open arms, as if it were a long lost lover. Entwined in the crook of Sleep's soft body, back in the earthy cavern of the den, he felt truly safe in a way he hadn't felt since leaving human society. When he had plunged down in to the sable underground, he almost wanted to cry out of joy. <i>This</i> was home. The new-born heathen reveled and tunneled in the dirt, rejoicing in the world, in familiarity.
But now he was awake, and there was a war drum in his head. Anxiety was a drumstick that beat away at his heart, and no matter how he wished he could go back to sleep, he knew it had been chased away. For a moment he simply lay there, gazing at the feeble light that spilled over the lip of the den, a confused look on his face. Suddenly, he didn't feel so comfortable here. A lifetime of memories came rushing back to the foreground, and he was assaulted by a montage of moving pictures: being cornered and attacked by these wolves, that little black one he had vomited on, brutal barbarianism. He looked down at himself and realized he was still covered in blood and caked in dirt. <i>Unclean.</i> A new wave of fear overtook him. <i>Forgive me, forgive me.</i> But who was he asking for forgiveness? Once again he was struck with confusion, suddenly at a lost.
<i>"Aisling!" </i>
The word went straight through him like a lance, like a hammer on the war drum in his head. Aisling? Aisling wasn't here, was she? He had been asleep when Jayse had brought her back to the Hollow. His heart beat faster. Aisling? Why did he feel so afraid... and was that... that <i>was</i> anger that pounded in his heart. <i>Pangur.</i> He had to see it with his own eyes. That... that... <i>girl</i> he had spent months chasing after, that <i>God</i> who had abandoned him. (<i>Does he hate me now? Am I doomed? Is this real?</i>). Even if he couldn't find his feet or strength, he somehow managed to crawl up the mouth of the den.
Brilliant sunbeams flooded his eyes, and he staggered slightly, his heart in his throat. The war drum pounded harder. Was that really her, standing in front of him? He wanted to smile.... but the corners of his mouth snagged suddenly on the jagged red marks on her coat, on the coarseness of her face. Confusion ripped him wide open, but the godless wolf stared at her evenly, almost coldly. Some other part of him must have spoken to her, because this part of him was so much calmer, smoother, "<b>Oh, so you're back now?</b>" The words were slow, dry as they crawled out of his sandpaper throat. The atmosphere was tense, awkward.
Abruptly, he saw a tawny scrap of fur walking towards Aisling. His heart leaped as he recognized her. <i>Trisden!</i> For her, there was no reservation or skeptical glares. In a moment he forgot his injuries, so swept up in glorious love for this young little girl that looked so grown up. He took a bounding leap towards her, and although his foreleg didn't quite hold him, he only faltered slightly. "<b>Trisden!</b>"
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