Work Text:
Does he hate Fero? After all. He is the one who betrayed his creation. The Halfling that eradicated his pack. The Druid who had spent more time with Samol in his final weeks than he did.
Fero sleeps almost in the open, in this case in a house with a door so wide it can never be shut for long. There is enough space for wine and ink to slip in and breathe his vitriol down onto him while he dreams.
Barely holding onto the shape of the last of his kind. Angry and afraid because of how little he has left to look towards. Leering down on the short form because he has no other person to direct it to (other than himself).
He can hear the sound of cheers clearly from miles away. It is his University, but not really, not any more. It is now full of people using it for something much more than he had ever imagined, all without his guidance.
He had already abandoned his son, and his husband and father too. Being hauled back injured to here felt cruel but expected.
Yes his knight is here but for how long will that last, he has his own family to attend to. Fero growls at nothing and rolls over. It brings Samot to his senses, still hovering knowing full well that there is no point to whatever this is.
Samot pulls back and rips out all of the energy out of the house with him through the gap he entered, like the tearing of fabric or skin from meat.
It is the emotion alone that keeps his fangs sharp even if he himself is too tired to keep up with the maintenance. The emotion is an old one speaking louder than his aching starlight.
He is supposed to be healing. He feels like he has been domesticated by circumstance. Brought in to the vet and advised to not be allowed to eat rich raw deer again.
Where did his godhood go? Where did his family go?
He barrels through the trees that he barely knows and is only stopped by a lake. Light from the cracks in his body shimmer on the edges.
There is a person already there at it’s edge. She is old, with long curly brown and grey hair caught loose in a ponytail. She breathes deeply rubbing circles into her palms. She looks up at Samot, feral fear in his posture, from the ground where she kneels like she knows it all but that can’t be true.
Brown eyes pierce his and it feels so close to the same pressure that had made him collapse in on himself when everything had just begun. His fur starts to fade because it has to go. He is not a wolf any more, he does not deserve that title.
But, she raises a hand and frowns slightly.
“If you want to do something, then let me be a little selfish. Would you listen to me God? Silently?”
It grounds him and it might have done back then too. The fur returns. Wolves used to hear the world but now there is only one left. He will listen to it all.