This took a bit longer than I'd wanted, but what can I say. Moving messes EVERYTHING up. Anyways, werewolf picture based on a character I would LOVE the chance to be able to play in Pathfinder/DnD 3rd and a little writing, do enjoy.
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The past tethers us. No matter how far we travel away from it, we always come back to it. For me, there are only two things from the past I can't seem to out run, and both of them are the same, just different circumstances.

This is the second one-the later one. My friend who was killed in action. There was nothing left of him, except his signature weapon-a polearm that weighed more than ten stones. He was a mighty warrior, capable in all situations, and to this day I cannot believe that he's gone. Which is why I keep coming back here-to remind myself.

It's painful. Every time I walk up here, I half expect him to be pulling this thing out of the ground, and reprimanding me for not taking care of his steel, for being careless and letting my guard down. I expect him to yell at me because I'm not hiding the beast within me anymore, and then proceed to get into an argument with me about which would be more likely to save my life-shocking the opponent by assuming the beastial aspect in front of them, or being tough enough to survive the opening moments of the melee.

Every time I come up here, his steel is buried down in the ground. The leather needs oiling, so I oil it.

Soon, another winter will be upon me, and I will have to leave this place. To what end, I do not know. The sea will be much to harsh, so I will travel inland. I need to make up my mind soon about where I'm heading so I can leave him a note.

He's not there today, but I can't believe he's dead.