Moving On

[Tristan]

A frown delved lines into his weathered face. He desired not to see large cities, especially most Moscow. He’d been content to sit on the fjord, build walls and mending fences, for the remainder of his days. The girl that was locked away, though, pricked his mind like a thorn that he could not yank away. She was deemed a monster because she was different from the others. Now she fought against those who feared her and they tightened the locks all the harder. Wolves roamed the wilderness of Russia, and he was sure that if he tried, he could find their minds. They would be useless without the leadership of a man – for even a pack of wolves would be unable to penetrate the high walls of a modern prison. He could go himself, leading the charge teeth bared and war cry billowing murderous intent from his lungs.

Mind settled, he nodded. “Come with me to rescue the girl and we can retreat to the wilderness afterward. We’ll take her with us if we have to,” he grasped her hand in his own and nodded eagerly her agreement.