In Love Through War - Book 3

Part 51

Earlier and elsewhere, a big man runs.

He has been running for quite some time now, always around the same large group, filled with thousands of people. The convoy itself is also running away from the threat on its heels, though obviously not as fast since the unnaturally large man is literally doing laps around it. Must be those long legs and his stride, almost like he is taking some kind of leap with each step.

Guess muscles trained for higher gravity will get you doing this kind of movement. I wonder if the guys that walked on the Moon felt this way too. Of course, that’s assuming the Moon Landing wasn’t just one big hoax. He thinks and smiles inwardly.

The man is focusing.

He is now focused. Very focused on nothing but the actual movements. He is focused on thinking nothing, about nothing, so that nothing does not become something. Someone. Someone with green eyes and sandy blonde-brown hair. Beautiful. Striking. Exotic or exquisite? He can never seem to decide on one. Maybe both?

His focus on just running is slipping. Again.

“DAMN IT!” he yells, quickly looking up and around him, ready to apologize to the people in the convoy whom he might have startled.

That’s odd! Where did everybody go?

Of course, he doesn’t know the convoy was about to be attacked. Again. But seeing as he was so focused on running, he has missed the call about the direction change.

I’m pretty sure I didn’t just drift off, which only leaves the convoy changing direction. Sooo… did they go left or right?

Do I mindlink someone and ask?

And make a fool of myself, again?

Nope. Then just pick one?

Left – right – left – right.

I’d rather be the one who is right about the choice I made then be the one to be left behind on my own.

Sound reasoning right there!

Right it is then!

Pick up the pace, Al’Aeen!

Run and sniff. Sniff so much, people will start calling you Sir Sniff-a-Lot!

Hah-haaah! I crack myself up!

Run-run-run! All I do is run! Running is fun!

Well, not really but at least I don’t have to see that mixed look of hopeful joy and regret filled sorrow in her eyes every time we meet.

Stop! Just stop that!

Stop obsessing about a woman you can’t have!

Though you probably can have her and willing.

But that would be wrong.

Wrong for my child. E doesn’t seem to mind though. Almost like she’s encouraging me. Considering what she said…

Wake up, stupid! That was your hallucination. A child that young can barely speak 10 words.

The hallucination made a pretty good point though.

And it would be wrong for Jena, who would get her hopes up without me able to come through for her.

And wrong towards my wife, who’s probably waiting for me back home.

Damn it! Why didn’t all this happen to me before I was this tied down? I just wish…

Not that it matters now.

And ultimately wrong for me too, since this isn’t even my world.

But wouldn’t it be nice if it were?

Why do I feel like all that wrong is actually right?

Isn’t what you feel in your heart, always right?

Oh God! What am I thinking?! I’m emotionally betraying everything I am, what I stand for.

What DO I stand for?

Haven’t I always said that the one thing I want most is to be happy?

So if the wrong thing would make me happy, isn’t it actually right?

But if what I choose makes others unhappy, am I still OK with making that choice? Or does it turn it back into being wrong?

I must be getting close; I can sense Jena’s scent. Chocolate and freshly peeled oranges. Always loved both of them!

And warhogs.

Wait! Why Warhogs?

Oh, God! They must be fighting! And where is everybody else? Why do I only find her scent in-between all that warhog stench?

Is it a mate thing?

Maybe they’re very far and I can only detect her and hear the fighting so…

Hear the fighting… shit, they must be really close. Like over the hill grunts and growls close and…

If he had been actually talking, he would be shocked into silence by the sight in front of eyes – a battered, blood covered wolf-form Jena being held by a warhog that honestly seems to be wobbling on his feet, while several other warhogs punch and kick at her from all sides, with even more of them waiting around, probably for their own turn.

With a fear greater than if it where his own life in danger and a rage that doesn’t seem to stop accumulating, just like the white death of an avalanche, he charges forward, starting a shift midstride with a foot landing on the shifting sand one moment and a huge bear paw the next.

*A.N.: Now should I be a stinker and leave you guys hanging like that? How about you leave a comment and a vote before you scroll over the next rows of useless spaces to find out?

Because tomorrow is not that far away, right?

Right? ;)