We returned to the motel after searching through the bushes for any sign of where the shaman might have headed to. We spent another hour or two ravaging through the shack, more like Asher did it and all I did was watch him.
I watched as he trashed someone else's personal space, with each piece of furniture he smashed his rage could be seen. Not all could it be seen in his actions but it could also be seen in his eyes, when a piece of wood flew towards me and I scurried to the side; he seemed to remember I was there.
He stared me down, his eyes wore his thoughts; I wish the Shaman was here so he could severe this thing from me. That was what his eyes said, he hated me and it was sad because I hated him too.
Two mates who detest each other, one unwilling to get over his dead mate and the
