Myth and Stories

Moons

There was nothing more he could do.

Nothing more he could do to save the one he called brother.

It was a simple thing really, for him to let loose the beast inside him. To bite and tear and snarl with all that his worth to the one person that stood by him. The last brother, when everyone else either fled, or where destroyed by their own malice or their own powers.

He drove them away, caring for their lives and their souls, as to not go tumbling down after him with no way to stop. There is nothing for him anymore.

Everyone is either dead, or broken beyond recognition.

He drove them away, with either words or swords, kind or other wise.

He was weak, and would eventually succumb. There's no brother left for him, only blood and death.

He was a coward, and waited on top of his silent throne and empty hall until judgment day came calling out to him with thick spears and broad banners. Warriors yelling their oath at the top of their lungs, forgetting who was it that gave them the weapon in their hands.

There's no one standing between him and the great army that came to take his life.

None.

He drove them away didn't he? Thinking that harsh words and sharp swords was enough to break a bond forged in a thousand years.

There's nothing standing between his death, but his eleven older brothers.

Twelve kings, princes, and wolves.