Fairspell Meadow she picked wild flowers

The pain in her heart failed to halt her movements, the ghost - so lithe and elegant - was forever walking. Alone, yes, but she found she did not want to accept anyone more into her cracked heart, for it never ended harmoniously. Knew was gone, Storm was not - he was there, somewhere, and the very whisper of his name upon her tongue or seething into her mind caused ripples of fear to shiver down her spine. Storm - oh, she hoped he would not discover her once more. Would not hurt her for running away from him again, would not force her into anything she would fight against like he seemed so desperate to do. She wanted nothing more than to see that charcoal brute fade away into the darkness, where she could not see him any longer. But the image of him, his face, his snarl, it was burned into her head.

Swiftly the dove's white paws moved against the snow, orbs like the ocean itself focused pitifully on the ground. Such a broken, tired little thing she was. Each step like the thrum of her heart that fluttered in her chest, still tightened as if a hand was grasping it and squeezing every last ounce of life from within and hiding it away some place she could not reach. Her own mind, her heart, was teasing her over the stability she wished she could have. The love she wished she could have.

Knew - her soul begged for him. Why did he leave her alone to lead her pack, leave her alone to rise up and stand tall to give hope to the wolves who followed her, when she could not even handle herself and her own thoughts? He had gone and in his place came the familiar yet stone cold presence of Storm, returning to a world she thought he had departed from. A world she had hoped he had departed from. But he was out there, she was certain. She must remain cautious... despite the lingering idea that followed her like a darkened shadow - she could, indeed, end it all. She could let go of the sorrows that tied her to the earth, the pain that traced her every move. And yet, she didn't. She wasn't brave enough - a coward, yes, that was what she was. Afraid even to remove the hurt from herself, simply there, struggling, simply a ghost.

The scent drew her from her pointless thoughts, fur as white as the snow itself ruffling in the wind as she sought out the owner. There - a dark figure. For a split second her heart shuddered as though knives were being plunged inside, ripping it from her chest until it lay bleeding on the ground. Storm. But no, a second glance assured her that it was in fact not Storm, but a stranger. The pale wolfess halted in her tracks.