For the rest of the drive, Darius' grandfather keeps me company. He tells me of how Darius was when he was young, that one girl that burned him when he was six. The time he ran around naked when he was seven, and another time he went through a goth phase when he was eight.
Each of the stories he told me of young Darius had me laughing my guts off, to a degree that I felt the most alive with him the hour or two we drove together, than I did the entire past six days.
But unfortunately, my time with him had come to a halt when the drive was finally over and we found ourselves in front of The Clawing grounds.
Getting out of the car, Darius' grandfather stood in front of the door, where Darius was awaiting us. And I stood beside his grandfather, involuntarily keeping my gaze on Darius himself.
He stands with his head bowed, and he dawns the demeanor of a wounded wolf. I don't think I've ever seen Darius like this before.
