Time had passed so easily. Never before had it seemingly slipped through Azrael's grasp as if trying to hold water in his palm. But cycles had passed in what felt like the blink of an eye; yet, at least for Azrael, little had changed. It was strangely peaceful and he found himself enjoying the quiet stillness of his little corner of Canis. Perhaps the rest of the caves were on fire or collapsing or launching an assault on Mother that he'd surely feel anger for being left out of later, but he did not notice here, in the little alcove he called his and Banshy's home.

Every day was the same - wake up, hunt, eat, relax until he grew hungry again, then eat what was left or hunt for more food. He didn't fill his time up with much more then hunting, eating, and sleeping, but he'd taken up a small hobby out of nothing other then boredom. While before he would have eaten the entirety of his hunts, leaving no carcass behind, now he saved the bones and had taken to carving them, carefully etching delicate patterns into the hard exterior - at first it was nothing but random, harsh lines, but he'd grown quite skilled in the time alone. Perhaps not a master at his hobby, but one could look at his little carvings and call them beautiful. It wasn't anything specific he was depicting, as Azrael wasn't the sentimental type to catalogue his life in the etchings of a bone, but here and there one would find the image of a fox, darting in and out of his carvings, usually a figure of life and joy.

It was his greatest pain. Perhaps his only pain. He would never admit it, not even to himself, but deep within he missed the small fox. He'd never expected to become a father to any creature. He'd never even expected to ever form such a deep familial bond with someone, but nevertheless, it had happened. And now that he was gone, exploring the caves or whatever he was doing in his absence, Canis seemed colder, less bright and welcoming. Sometimes he dwelled on these feelings of loss, the emptiness without the young fox, and he found himself growing angry. He had become so weak, hadn't he?

But was it a weakness, to love? He had never thought of it as a weakness before, but it sure felt like one now. Sometimes when he woke up, he'd feel weaker. He'd feel a deep ache in his chest that wouldn't go away no matter how much fire he blasted to distract himself or how many carvings he did in an attempt to think of something other then the bright young fox that had somehow stolen his heart.

It was confusing. It was new, feeling such aching emotions, and he wasn't sure he liked it. He preferred it when things were simpler, when there was only thought of the next hunt, the next fight, and Forgraves' face awaiting him when he returned home again. But that was a time past now. Forgraves was gone and he did nothing but languish and give in to sloth.

One day, it was like a switch had been flipped. Azrael had had enough. The longer he stayed here, the weaker he became. The more out of shape and out of mind he felt himself becoming. Those bad days were becoming more frequent and, while the peace had been nice and his sloth had been satiated, he was beginning to feel antsy and restless. It was time to move on.

Arising from his spot, he stepped out from the alcove, ready to leave this place for a while. He'd return, of course - this home was still Banshy's home, after all. Speaking of the hybrid, who was still wandering in the other nearby caves, Azrael figured that he should at least leave something to let them know he had left for a time. It wasn't much, but he turned around and, with a flick of his wrist, a pumpkin sprouted from the ground and rapidly grew to a decent size. Satisfied with this small token, he turned and walked away, quite unceremoniously, towards the exit of Canis.

*exit