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One of the wildI was meant to be among the strong
To become one of the wild ones
Wolves were to be my brethren
As one of them I would have roamed
Savage and proud, free and fierce
Leashes and chains, curses of promises
It would never touch me
Ever would I be captured again
So was I meant to be
SonOne winter afternoon, king Valerie wandered the empty hallways of the royal castle. In the clothes of a lackey, without his bodyguard or a single weapon to defend himself, he somehow felt safer. Free. A heavy oakwood door blew open with a bang, as he watched the tearful scholar dash by. He fought the urge to run to her, to try to comfort the young woman. He sighed, leaning against the stone wall. He shouldn't be there. He had no official connections to the boy. Any nasty rumour could ruin him. But of all the speech in the court, the worst they could speak was the truth. Still, he knew getting caught was not the reason he was reluctant to enter. He collected his courage and turned to the door.
"Marvin", he greeted the young boy as he stepped in. "Father." He decided to ignore the insult within the exaggerated politeness. The mess was almost as bad as he had expected. The only thing that didn't seem to be broken or knocked over was the heavy wooden table, with his son sitting behind it,
VillipoikaPoika villiintyi sinä kesänä
Kasvoissaan villieläimen silmät
Rakkaimpiaan metsän hämärä
Levottomat tuulet ja yöt kylmät
Ei tiennyt äitinsä surua
Ymmärtänyt ihmisen tuskaa
ImperfectPallav was sitting in front of his cave, enjoying the afternoon sun. It was finally spring. The birds were singing. The ground was warm. The woods smelled of summer. Yellow old fir needles were picking his feet, and the stone wall behind his back felt cold, but he didn't mind. The world was awakening, and he was happy. Whether that would be his last summer, he didn't quite care.
He had a new summer cloth, made of a deer hide. An old woman had given him for healing her son's wound. He wasn't sure whether the woman knew none of his herbs or treatments had any sort of magic or witchcraft to them, or was her deep gratitude genuine. Either way, the wound healed, the young was able to hunt again, she didn't lose her son, and he got a fine hide for the summer.
Somewhere down the rocky hill, a woman called his name. He forced himself to open his eyes, knowing none of the tribespeople would dare to interrupt his peace unless absolutely necessary. A young woman, carrying a package, was climbing
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Bluefley has a gallery filled with artwork that whisks you off in to a Sci-fi daydream, and keeps you captivated for hours. Marc has been a member of our community for over a decade and has achieved nothing but success with his astounding commitment to interacting with the community, sharing a prolific amount of video tutorials and generally being an all round rockstar deviant. It is no joke that we are absolutely delighted to award the Deviousness Award for April 2014 to ... Read More