Opal

2 ☽ Hurricane

Keifer POV

"Veiler! Good work." Sergeant Bruce yells at me after I finish the course. I frown, standing straighter and flexing my shoulders back. I wipe the sweat from my brow, looking back at the obstacles with a raised eyebrow as my comrades fall behind. None are as fast as I am. They're still pushing through the course with difficulty. Not one of them is even half way through.

I glance at the Sergeant and shrug, because its really nothing new. It's not a brag, it's just a fact. I've done the course in 4 minutes flat before. I don't rush through it in an effort to be better than everyone else. I do it because I want to get away from these people as soon as possible.

"Hardly my best." I say absently, feeling far away from here as per usual. I may be surrounded by the Rocky Mountains, but I'm far from home. I've become so detached from this place. I don't care how long I rot here for. It doesn't matter.

Sometimes I miss home, sometimes I don't. I constantly think of my family and what they're doing, but it doesn't make a difference. I mostly reminisce about my mate. My sweet Opal. I can't forget her, but I find that the image of her face is slowly fading away in my head. I'm ashamed of that. How can i forget any aspect of her? She's my whole life.

"You can go back to your tent and wash up before dinner." Sergeant Bruce brushes me off, his attention now focused on the other "soldiers" as he calls out criticizing remarks in his harsh, diomineering voice.

Poor Bruce has an ego problem

I shift my gaze and start walking the long stretch of land to my own private tent. That's one thing that I admire about this awful place. There's some semblance of personal space here. If I was locked in a communal bedroom I'd probably end myself then and there.

"Hey, Keifer! You coming to the poker game tonight?" Someone shouts, I know it's Henry, so I grin and salute him. He's one of the only people I can stand here. But not for too long, I can never handle someone for too long.

"Of course." I reply quickly, wanting to quickly get away, but enjoying the company of the few other lycans here. They worship me, and most days I don't know if I like it or not. It's nice to be adored by the masses for once. I'm used to being judged and gossiped about back home. It's a good change of pace.

Especially when I see the werewolves around. I spot one on my trek back to my tent, and he shifts his gaze away quickly, looking at his feet while he walks in the opposite direction. Werewolves are viewed as lesser here at Arrowhead. They're weaker, and therefore they aren't shown as much respect as the lycans like myself. Or even the bear shifters.

It's moments like these where I think that I should be thankful for my status, and that I'm not picked on, or resentful. I hate seeing anyone treated that way. And yet, I remain silent about it.