To the bells of Notre Dame

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The prince was growing and becoming more adventurous finally. His paws were still a little too big for him but he was able to walk around without stumbling over himself every two steps. He would wander further and further away from their den, spending more time away from his siblings and mother as his disdain for them grew. How special they felt for their earthen colours while he, different than their laws and love for their coats of brown.

He moved with the herd of deer on most days. Following their hoof marks in the mud as rain drizzled from above. Today the roar of thunder was silenced as all he could hear was the soft trickling onto the colourful autumn leaves that scattered along the ground.

Since their "training" days, he had grown thinner. The puppy fat quickly burnt through as he had grown accustomed to the empty feeling in his belly over those two days. Relishing in it really as it seemed to make him more "deer-like" in figure as he noticed they weren't as bulky as some of the wolves... if he couldn't be coloured like them, he could do other things to look similar. To move like them. Be one of them as he slowly integrated into their herd. Walking closer with them as they grew to trust the small wolf prince with his lack of interest in hunting them.

What made them so special was still beyond him, perhaps that was just his anger still speaking knowing how everyone in the pack must see him as different. That he had to work harder for no good reason other than because of “what might happen” in the future.

If that is what they saw, then perhaps he could do something about it. What that was… well, he was at a loss. Maybe he could show them he was good, that they could lift this curse from his body over time if he spent enough of it with them. Among them. At first, he tried to play with their young, their spindly legs proving to be much more agile than his, and their mothers overly protective as they’s usher him away with angry hooves. More than once he would return home to sleep with a mark on him somewhere - only to try again the next day and learn to keep his distance; they didn’t want to play, they weren’t allowed to with someone like him, he would eventually believe.

So he remained mostly at the rear of the herd. Pondering… watching. Patiently observing and finding beauty, resonance in the silence that followed them.

It was better than the squabbling and troublesome siblings of his. How they would have to “show him the right path”. Bah! To hell with them - he would find the path on his own. The path to righteousness without their judgemental “guiding hand”. All he needed was right here… they would show him the path. Teach them their ways, their magnificence and grace, and in time if he was lucky… perhaps they would show him what was necessary to rise from this shade he was given.

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