Greatwater Lake When remembering a life lost

She so wanted him to remember. How it pained her that his memory still forsook him! Dakarai’s madcap wife had tried everything she could think of, from herbs to tinctures to beautifull spun stories but the dark stranger always stared back at her, blinking simply, unknowingly, unencumbered by their past. The pressure behind it all was crushing her. Olive felt as though she was competing - but competing with who, herself? It seemed that was exactly right: the fae was competing with herself to prove that their love was written in the stars, as immovable and unshakable as the Sunspire. Olive had their rapport laid out on a microfiche slide and was constantly examining it, mending it, bending it to be what she felt and wanted it should be.

Olive knew that the sense of artifice would asphyxiate them one day, but what worried Olive more was that might happen in Dakarai never recovered his memory and never recovered his love for her. Olive loved him far too much to keep him shackled to her out of obligation and a sickening sense of sentimentality. This new Dakarai [though rough around the edges and quite guarded] deserved freedom to live the life he wanted... not the one that was thrust upon him. Her love wasn’t ownership, just as his love couldn’t be taken — only given. Perhaps they were fighting a losing battle; perhaps theirs was a type of love that came around only once in a lifetime and had overstayed its welcome. When would it be time to call it quits, to concede defeat to the gods?

Afterall, the gods giveth and the gods taketh away. 

But there was one last thing Olive had to try before she cut free her kindred spirit.

She knew they were close to those Blackfeather Fuckers. Olive nearly had the way memorized, since her excursion with the golden boy, Armand [oh, how she missed the wraith!]. One day, in her desperation, the tiny shewolf concocted plan of… immersion therapy, of sorts. She led him to the pack's borders without a clue, without telling him where or who they were off to see… but when they approached the territory of the stygian pack of wolves, Dakarai’s mind seemed to churn. Olive felt no fear, no foreboding at this time — hell, the blood-scented borders barely registered in her faculties. All eyes were upon Dakarai, watching, waiting to see if the severity of this recollection, this place, would trigger anything at all.

At first, nothing. Suddenly, then he panicked! He shouldered her away from the haunting forest and the portentous wolves housed inside and led her away, darting away from the territory as if they had the hellhounds biting at their hocks. Olive’s heart leapt and she followed him willingly, excitedly, greyscale banner lashing behind her in a feat of success! However, when he husband slowed his flight and looked at her, exasperated and confused, her insides leadened once more. They had been so close! As soon as Dakarai’s memory had come back it had faded; but it had been there. Something had clicked in his mind to evoke such a volatile reaction from a quite even-keeled man. Olive, overcome with vexation and chagrin, decided they couldn’t lose this. They HAD to go back; It was all right there, if they could only grasp it! The earthen druid was reckless, heedless, unwilling to let this slip away despite the risk. ”No!” she cried. “We must go back! We must—“ 

A young man stepped out from their surroundings and recognized Dakarai. Dakarai positioned himself between herself and the newcomer, but Olive saw no need for such obstruction to justice. Olive’s slight form brazenly navigated its way around Dakarai to Abraxas, as if he were the keeper of all Dakarai’s memories. “Sir, can you help us? Please, shepherd us through your territory?” she beseeched the young man, ignoring his acrid entrance, as if this was a completely rational request.