[1st draft] Bora's near-death experience caused a brief separation from Gemma, but to live in peace, he must end the Seven Shadows.
Bora Hawk, the polar wolf, has an unexplained target on his back. His enemies want him dead, caged, or becoming the...
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"Off record, go break something. You will feel better." My therapist gave me some unsolicited advice right before I left, along with a free session. She claims it has the potential to serve as catharsis. Her husband also passed away, and she found comfort in participating in a similar activity. An aged black pickup truck crashed his horse with him on it, and she dealt with the loss by buying the vehicle from an auction to bash it. It strengthened her. Why not?
I step through the patches of grassy dandelions, savoring their softness beneath my feet. I make my way toward an old abandoned courthouse, twirling my wooden bat. Rage rooms charge eighty-five dollars for every twenty minutes. I need a couple of days and free service. This building is on schedule to be demolished next week. I didn't hold my breath to take full advantage.
As I come to pass a tree, an object feathered and lifeless is near the trunk bottom cavity, halfway in the hole. I checked out the bird, marveling at its large, impressive appearance. It's a hawk for sure, but what kind? I pluck my device from my sweat pocket, googling northern hawks. Eurasian Goshawk is what appeared in the engine - the phantom of the forest. I gazed at the pale gray, beautiful creature. What a dedicated animal living up to his name.
I noticed around the ankle a thin red thread knotted into a loose bow. Hmph may have belonged to someone. Poor guy. I kneeled down to examine the frame for the cause of death. I see no injuries, but I'm not about to touch it either for a full exam. Hopefully, whatever attacked it won't come after me. I rise, pulling up my sweat pants, retying the tangle, because unfortunately I can't quite fit into my clothes the way I used to. His ending took an unexpected toll on me.
I wander through the warehouse, the ceiling slowly decays, molded, peeling like wet cardboard. Reckon ball size holes in brick walls, old sheet rock, and silica dust piled in corners throughout the halls. I see a few windows I can bust and use pipes to rupture the sheetrock. I enter an open room with a chair standing on three legs in the center.
Perfect setting to rage alone with my thoughts, mourning my shortcomings. How I know this world isn't fair, but damn it, it doesn't mean I have to accept it right away. I gear up in my Boiler Suit Coveralls, slipping on thick padded gloves and goggles. Safety first. As I zip up my suit, I pick up a dragging foot sliding gravel against the concert, resonating through these empty walls. My arresting gaze had his hands in the air.
"Sorry to barge in on you, but I never seen you hear before." A towering twenty something year old man, more on the slim side, well fitted punk rocker pants and a long smooth black jean trench. His slightly short spiked hair matched his irises like a photocopy, strand matte, eyes glossed.
"No, my apologies. Um, cough, who are you? No disrespect."
"I'm sorry I startled you. My name is Soren Badger. The owl out back is mine, and I was coming in for the shovel."
"How did it pass?" My lip quivered.
"A bobcat caught her right before she took off. I tried to save it, but it was too late, clearly." He put his fist on his hipbone, releasing his head to the floor and seeing the crown. "Can I?" He directed to the closest, snagging a shovel and a brief wave with it in the air. "I got it."
