I paced around through the unknown territory, my long curved claws digging into the soft mud and wet leaves. Rain still drizzled, dripping off of the leaves as if the world was feeling my pain. What was I doing wrong? Why did I feel so guilty? Is it because of everything I had found out, the encounter of death, or looking back to see. . .I've become an animal. It's like standing in a forest of dead leaves, so easy to burn. And I had just burned those woods. . .and everything around it. I didn't want to hurt anyone. I just wanted to stop the fighting, and let there be peace. Why does the hatred always rise up? is it because of me? is it because... because we were made this way? Am I doing something wrong? It's so clouded, so hazy. I can hardly see anymore. What have I become?