They say time heals all wounds.
They lied.

Years had passed since Flick's death, even more since Mare's and still those woulds were just as raw as the day they were made.

The pack had never quite recovered from its losses that day. Still I often saw members staring at me in some forbidden way out of the corner of their eye.

Flicks words had wounded more than just Theos, who awoke almost every night covered in sweat and screaming. Every night he saw them die, both of them.

Over and over and over again.

There was no end to this hell.

Our only solace came with the sun, though it was few and fleeting as soon night always fell, blanketing the land in its suffocating darkness.

Every night we were washed beneath the waves of sleep and every night we drowned, clawing at the surface of the water for release. Begging for freedom of this never ending cycle.

Time had done little to ebb the tides, only serving to dull the words of those in the pack who were still angry.

They felt betrayed, and rightly so.

They still felt their guilt, for blaming Mare. For condemning her to death all those years passed.

But slowly, new life filled the pack, born into the blissful ignorance of their youth.

With a small smile, I looked over to Theos, as usual asleep at his desk, half done paperwork strewn across the cluttered surface.

My heart calmed as I stared lovingly at the tiny infant asleep in his arms. Three weeks old, and smiling sweet. Our first born son.

With a sigh I closed the door, leaving them to rest.
Maybe with time our wounds would slowly close, leaving but small scars behind.

And our children would live in the peace we never could, raise their children in a kingdom far greater than any we could ever build, not knowing what it was like to live in the shadows of the past.

Only time would tell.