Snow blanked the forest floor. It covered all traces of anything past, purifying it of all its wrongs and turning over to a new page. It had removed the footsteps of civilians doing a daily walk, the paw prints of average wildlife and the trail of a man dressed strangely for the weather of the day.
If you had followed the trail he had left, you would have left the main path about halfway into the forest veered left and down a little hill. From there you would have followed the iced over stream (that carries itself out of the forest into a river) till you met with a dugout burrow. It was there you would see the strangely dressed man perched on the hill the burrow was dug from. His back is towards a fine old oak tree, leant on it. His legs, branch like in length are stretched out on the forest floor, with his hands clasped together are placed almost gently in his lap.
He wore a green fur lined green coat, thin for the season. A deep red beanie covered his head with his midnight black hair spilling out of it. Black trousers and boots covered his lower half to finish off the look.
The man looked happy in his place on the ground, a smile gracing his face. He was smiling but it wasn't right.
Bright green eyes were filled with tears and sorrow. They did not match the joyous smile on his lips or the peaceful posture his body was in. Grief was stark in his eyes, a broken universe in every tear falling from those eyes. Grief for the world he had lost. The children who had suffered, the children caged, and the children lost enevitably to the dark void of death. Fate had not desired for his happiness so they had taken all that made him happy.
In his tears he remembered: the one kept as an animal, the one cast to the oceans, the one chained to place, the one stuck in a realm unknown, the one changed and then slaughtered, and the other ripped to pieces by someone they loved. Each child his, whether though his body or though someone else's. Each child loved the same by him. Each child taken from his arms, and his safety for the 'good' of others.
He remembers the damage he has caused, the tantrums he threw, in hope someone would understand his love for the 'monsters' he brought to life. He remembers the fights with his brother and his brother's friends. He remembers the grief he caused others in compensation for what they did. And he does not regret it.
But if you asked him does he regret it, he would say yes because the strange man on the hill remembers them, the children but also her; the loyal wife gone.