Wolf RPG

It was a mantra, a war chant, a prayer. 

For days - how many she could no longer be certain - the words rang through her head. More oft than not distant and echoing, as a guard's howl ringing through the red canyons of Grinestone yet an alarm all the same. Weariness was carved into the hollows of her cheeks, the pits of her eye sockets, the scallop of her ribcage. It had muddled the faun's mind, whispering that it would be only too easy to just stop. Drop.

The pain was an anchor. A muted kindling that had once been searing, roaring as it burned its way out of her from within. An inferno that spoke of skin torn asunder, bones crackling within the flames - the pain of a phoenix, of birth. 

The pain of having nothing to show for it. For of all the aches that plagued her beaten body, it was this invisible crater within her chest that hurt the most.

It was sheer agony, instincts screaming that the empty place at her teats - the fire of mother's loss, the torment of milk fever - was a failure on her part. A constant needling threatening to nudge her over the brink, free-falling through the abyss of insanity: your fault, your fault. 

How selfish it would be, to grant herself that escape, when the punishment was so just. 

If not for Awen's own vindication, the terror would have seen her this far. The slow rate of her progression was an endless source of anxiety even knowing there was little to be done about it. In her heart of hearts, there was no distance that could ever be far enough; there was no fortress safe enough. Fae eyes rose and set over pale horizons in unison with the sun and moon - forever awaiting the threat of retribution, of monsters in the dark. 

The sun's light had already left this world by the time she reached the creekside, the eerie and ominous ambiance of nightfall casting a hush over the forest. It was a winterland, though it couldn't be called a wonder. A timeless in-between it had become under the moon's pale glow - neither here nor there, a purgatory where one might seek the lost and broken. 

A familiar spectre she seemed - emerging from the shadows with aptitude, a ghost melting from the woodwork as the haunting hour struck. Splattered with old blood and muck, tattered and numb to the gentle flurries sticking to her lashes and whiskers, the Fen sprite too shifted in the silver silence. 

A forlorn, woebegone woman in white, haunted gaze sweeping for threats as she trudged on - head low and shoulders hunched. Thin, ivory pillars trembled through the chill, faltering as exhaustion demanded to be acknowledged. 

Casting a hesitant, calculating glance over the bony white peak of her shoulder, the Saluki admitted defeat as the darkness held fast to its secrets - still and soft. 

It took almost more energy than she could muster to continue alongside the burbling stream, by the time she reached a sheltering overhang, the healer was stumbling and her vision was tunneling. 

Collapsing upon a heap of snow-crusted deadfall beneath the stone roof, the battered woman curled in on herself - shuddering and shivering as she tucked her face against slim limbs and covered her nose with a thin, curled tail. 

Tired as she was, sleep remained evasive in this foreign land, in the wake of the past. Blinking into the blackness, she tried unsuccessfully to calm her mind and slow her racing heart.

The world was free and ever so wild. The gales blew and snow blistered the landscaped and he loved it. Thrived on it. Today was a good day, so he roamed solely for a bit, letting @Miriam tend to her own desires for a short while. 

He followed the creek down the mountain, wondering where it eventually ran. Perhaps there was a lake nestled in the trees, but he couldn't see an opening in the skeletal canopy. It also vaguely smelt like a pack was close, so he'd be careful to treat those he met with good spirits. 

Komal reached his destination: a small pool at the base of the mountain creek where the ice was broken. He drank his fill then cast his gaze about. To his surprise, there were the faintest footprints in the snow, tracing along. Dragging. A small, weak thing had passed. He followed them the best he could, using his nose to reveal foreign scents and the unmistakeable blood. 

Soon, he found the creature. Spindly, frail fame that wasn't really wolf curled up in the mountain wall. He chuffed, moving closer. He held no fear for the...female. He could smell it now, the milk that kindled long-forgotten memories he shut down quickly. He nudged her with his nose, breathing warmth on her. 
The faint breath, the patter of a heartbeat.

He curled himself around her, licking her fur like she were a pup. "Don't die." He quietly murmured, unsure if she'd comprehend his words. She looked weird, but it was probably starvation that made her so.

Perhaps she dozed. Perhaps she hazily flirted between the vague boundaries of this realm and the next. 

Regardless, the sylph can't recall peeling back her lids - has no clue how long she's drifted in the dark before detecting his pale figure before her. 

An omen as certain as Death's pale steed, Despair, she drew back weakly with a gasp, breath caught in the brambles of her throat. 

"Non, non," came the fe's wisp of a plea, a heavy weight sinking in the pit of her stomach. Aliroth never abated once his wrath was riled; the pale demon lived for the thrill of inflicting pain. Like a shark hooked on the scent of blood, once he locked onto the glint of pain blossoming in your soul, he attacked. 

But, he must not have heard - this ivory knight - for before she could even summon her tongue to protest, the male was curling his larger frame about her (despite the healer's imminent flinch). The toll of her trials was too great, the cold too biting for her to deny his warmth - though the Druid subconsciously rejected the protectiveness of his embrace, unaccustomed and alien as it was. 

Awen's jaws clattered with the wind, stuttering too urgently to utter another sound. Weaving slightly, the broken being pressed a thin countenance against his chest for a moment, thawing her face in the plush of his ruff. 

"Thank ye," the words slipped between trembling lips as her muzzle canted to one side, a soft pallid eye peeking up at him for a moment. It dropped again, almost instantly, feeling vulnerable beneath his periwinkle gaze.