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The Lone Wolf Chapter 7The Lone Wolf
Marth looked at the sleeping Hylian on his bed. He really should wake him up, but he looked just so adorable cuddling up against the princes blue pillow. (Where the hell did that thought come from, he wondered.)
Marth sighed, remembering back a few minutes ago.
Flashback (A/N: WHEEE!)~~~~~~
Marth saw Link wince as he put pressure on his broken ankle. Does it hurt that much? the bluenette wondered silently. He decided yes when he saw the blonde bite his lip to stop from whimpering.
Marth stopped, causing Link to stop as well, and sighed. Link, it will take us an hour to get to the mansion at the rate were walking. He saw the other swordsmans slightly abashed look and continued, But we can get there in five or ten minuets if I carry you.
Links face grew embarrassed, and he stuttered, N-no, that wont be necessary, sir-er, I mean, Marth. Marth was appalled to hear the you
The Lone Wolf Chapter 6The Lone Wolf Chapter
WARNING: The following contains very minor YAOI (boy on boy) don't like, don't read.
The Prince of Wolves? The man-Marth-asked curiously. How can you be the Prince of Wolvesyou arent even one. Link cursed himself. What was I thinking?!?!? I shouldve been more careful.
Well...um...you see- He stopped in midsentence to sneeze. Marth frowned.
Lets go inside, Link, he said, slightly worried. Well get you a blanket and a change of clothes. He then started to walk off.
Link went to follow, but, unfortunately for him, he stepped in a puddle of water and slipped. He tried to brace his fall, but instead landed with most of his weight on his left foot, making him gasp with pain.
Marth heard his gasp and quickly hurried back to the distressed hylian, kneeling next to him.. Clumsy, arent you? he joked, trying to lighten t
IowaIf you visit Iowa,
you'll call her fields empty,
but she wasn't born that way.
A part of her was carved out
when she was ripped between Virginia
and the purple mountains of New Mexico.
Her gold hair, she tore it out when she realized
it didn't make her a princess.
She laid her locks strung along every road
leading somewhere else.
White hairs on her cheeks
are scars from winter.
Her hair darkens with the dampness
of summer rains.
The storms are never silent,
but neither is life when there's a tear
in your childhood where
a parent ought to be.
I've been flooded by Iowa's sorrow.
The only way I can distract her from her own voided landscape
is if I hate myself harder than she cries.
She just wants to fly
and I want to bus or train,
not because I fear death, but because
I want to take living slow.
It's the only way I ever feel.
From the air it's hard to watch Earth's hips move.
But Earth can't compare to the country.
That's my girl.
Full grown even when harvesting season's j
To depression, for creating days without endWake up to the realization that you've been awake
for seconds, minutes, hours.
You've been awake in this warm, dark room
and you don't know how long it's been
but now you're conscious
and it starts again--
the pain, strong and steady, in your chest.
You gain consciousness in this too warm morning
and your thoughts whir in endless loops
because it's either that or face the weight in your chest.
Light breaks though the window, soft and unwelcome
but you take it as a reluctant gift--
a new distraction from the feelings awake in your chest.
Awake, but not conscious.
So you think yourself in circles a little while longer
waiting for those quiet pains
(the constant reminder)
to gain consciousness.
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