ArchangelAlaric

A lot of the statements you read are, like, "Most people have a peaceful death." That's fine for "most people." But what if I'm one of those who doesn't? What might look peaceful from the outside does not necessarily reflect the internal mental state of the person. Let's face it, when you're completely paralyzed, can't talk, can't move your eyes, can't move your arms, how do you let somebody know you're suffering? They look at you, and you're still. And usually, we associate suffering with people kind of rolling around and going "Ow, ow, ow." There's none of that. Gee, it must be peaceful. Well, no, it doesn't have to be peaceful. This could

Waovu walked through the Westlands with a dead impala fawn clamped in her jaws, her white and purple eyes set on the Pridelands border. However, as she neared Alaric's den to pass it by, she decided to make a pit stop. Waovu stashed the fawn in some brush several yards away from the den before slowly walking towards it with a smirk creeping up her muzzle. "Alaric? You in there?" she asked as she stopped at the den entrance and peered in. Isa was the only lioness still in his den this night, the others having gone who knows where. She was still laying half-asleep in the corner, her head resting on her paws and she was breathing through her mo