by ~Phantasos~ » Wed Jan 16, 2013 11:15 am
Soldier pressed the blade against his throat even more then yelped and looked down.
Chance had shifted into the small white wolf and had locked her fangs around Soldier's leg.
"And dreams in their development have breath,and tears,and tortures,and the touch of joy; they leave a weight upon our waking thoughts,they take a weight from off our waking toils,they do divide our being."