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@Kynareth Deagon
early morning, 28 F, cloudy

A large, dark figure chased her through an unknown, dense forest. She had to weave around tree trunks and jump over large boulders, which only slowed her down. Every time she chanced a look behind her the figure was closer. Her heart beat against her ribs so hard that she thought it might burst from the confines of her chest. She desperately sucked in air, but she never felt like she could get a big enough breath. 

Her paws thundered furiously against the ground until suddenly there was no ground; the earth dipped down into a steep drop, and she was thrust forward and down so hard, she saw stars and gasped for air. She tumbled, head over feet, over and over until she slammed into the ground at the bottom. Everything hurt. She needed to get up and keep moving, but everything hurt. She heard the figure laugh from up above, and the sound sent tendrils of dread down her spine. She couldn't stay there.

As she forced herself up against the protest of her injuries, she saw two paths in front of her. One was sun-lit; the breeze gently moved autumn-colored leaves along the dirt. Looking into its depths filled her with love and familiarity, but it also hinted at a struggle she wasn't sure she could face. The other path was dark—almost no light made it through the trees even though they were stripped of their leaves. The barren branches were gnarled, and they reached across the path to the eerie trees on the other side. She felt a familiar fear as she looked down that path. But with the fear, there were whispers of great power, promises of freedom from all of her struggles. But there were lies, too, and she wasn't sure if she could pick them apart from the truth. 

She had to choose a path to get away from the figure, but she froze, unsure which one to take. The insidious laugh sounded from directly behind her, and she turned to see a sickening pair of familiar, blue eyes. She tried to cry out, but no sound came from her. He grabbed her then and—

She woke from the nightmare with a racing heart and tears in her eyes. She sat up from where she had been sleeping against Kynareth, and she struggled to catch her breath. It had felt so real, but then it always did. She drew in quiet, shuddering breaths for a few more moments before she suddenly felt too hot. She jumped up and sprinted outside into the snow. Simmik sank back on her haunches and continued to pant. Flashes of the dream played in front of her eyes, not matter how tightly she closed them. Mostly she saw his eyes; they were burned into her vision whether her eyes were open or closed, and they made her feel weak and trapped. She was so tired of feeling that way. 

The more time she spent with Ky, the less she felt like that. His love made her feel strong, and being here made it easier to try and forget her past. She never fully forgot it, though; its claws were in her mind and it clung there and reminded her of how pathetic she was whenever it got the chance. But lately, she had thought of it a little less during her waking hours. The nightmares came almost every night, but she at least got some relief during the day. And Ky had stayed true to his word: as long as she didn't try to escape, he had treated her well—better than well, really. It made her chest swell with her own love as confusing as it still was. She saw her power in his love—the power to sway his decisions in her favor. She was starting to believe his promise that he would do anything for her; it was just the exceptions that held her back from giving into him completely. At the end of the day, she was still his captive. 

Breathing became a little easier, but she still panted as though she had just run a mile without stopping. The snow felt good against her flaming skin, and she tried to concentrate on that and not the monster in her nightmare.
Thought I’d put a little snippet of dream sequence too cause fuck it. ٩( ᐛ )و

Kynareth is unaware of the monster chasing Simmik in her dreams. For his own mind supplies him of his own. Though not necessarily a monster, but perhaps a memory of his own. Images of his father come to mind; a large pitch black male with striking yellow eyes. Nothing but a stump of a tail he had — got it ripped off in a fight is what he told him and Kyn can definitely believe it. He remembers times when he was around two and a half, he and his father would storm packs, hunt down those who wronged the Saints. 

Then comes the fond images of his mother. A medium sized woman of a firm build. Pure Akita; thick, dense coat of brindle and a curled tail. She had once fought alongside his father as well. Though in one fateful battle she decided she would fight no more. 

It was half the Saints, Kynareth, his mother, and Father. They had a bone to pick with a rather close neighbor who planned to jump ship and move once they heard what had happened. So, a common thing the Saints would do is wipe out the pack entirely if the reward seemed to outweigh the losses. His father requested a fair alpha versus alpha battle — a one on one so to speak. Accepting such a request they began to fight — his father won in a fit of flying teeth and blood, killing their alpha. They were shocked and predictably hurt by the loss. Yet, even at the fair request and just win, they attacked. 

His mother and father were the first to get jumped, large numbers of the Saints moving with lightening speed to defend them, Kynareth included. Knowing his father was already closer to death than the rest of them, he moves to help him. Yet, they were too late to get to his mother. There was blood everywhere, they’d ripped off an ear, then most shockingly a leg. Her front left one to be exact. Kynareth’s saw it rip with the amount of wild teeth that gripped it. He went into a blind rage and it’s at this point he’s been stirred from his fitful slumber. 

It happens quickly, the memory of his mother getting ripped limb of limb fading and being replaced by the blurry image of Simmik’s white fur. He isn’t quick enough to comprehend what is happening until she’s darting out of the den. He’s shifting quickly to look and is able to see her stop just outside, sighing in relief that he doesn’t have to chase her. Her form moves and quakes with heavy breathes and he instantly knows there’s something wrong.

Standing and only stretching briefly, his heavy paws thump as he moves beside her. He’s silent as he sits down, large head turning to face her in a silent inquiry. Until he’s not really silent anymore. 

“Bad dream?” He asks simply. “Don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to, dear.” Is his offer for a way out just in case she feels trapped. Besides that, he stays silent, looking away and to the wilderness around them until she offers an answer.
She heard his steps, but she didn't turn to look at him. Instead, she kept her eyes on the ground, studying the way her paws cut circles into the snow. Of course her nightmare had been obvious—she hated it. She just wanted to forget it all ever happened, but her past always found her while she slept. 

At first she only nodded, unsure if she wanted to talk about it and not able to find words to speak regardless. She shifted closer so that their sides touched, and she finally turned her head and nuzzled his shoulder briefly. When she pulled back, she looked up at him. Do you ever have nightmares? she asked. He claimed to feel guilty about things, and she believed that he did in his own way. So then did he have bad dreams too? Surely everyone did. Although, she wished she could just stop caring so hers would go away. If she felt nothing, then she couldn't be bothered by anything anymore. 

But then she thought of the way her heart picked up speed anytime Ky did something that showed the love he had professed to her not very long ago. She had started to feel somewhat protective of him. It seemed like his whole life, he had not had anyone who was truly on his side—he had never known true loyalty. Anytime he should have had it, those wolves betrayed him. Simmik couldn't help but feel like that was why he had gone down such a dark path. She wondered how she might be able to help him by being solely on his side. She didn't intend to change him too much, because that was impossible, but maybe they could be something stronger and less volatile together. 

She looked away and leaned her head against his shoulder as she waited for him to answer. She would much rather talk about his dreams than her own.
He allows her to be distracted from her nightmares with stories of his own. He nods slowly, not looking down at her, but nuzzling into her just as much as she did him.

“The dream I was having before you woke up was...” He pauses trailing off briefly. “Not really a nightmare, but maybe a memory of one. When my mother got her arm ripped off in a fight.” He doesn’t look at her when he speaks, instead he gazes longingly at the horizon at the memory of his mother. “She didn’t deserve it either, but does it really matter when you’re on the ‘wrong side’? She was a stern, but kind woman.” His words are almost distracted as he conjures up the memory of her. 

Finally, he sighs seeming to come back to reality. “I’ve had many more than just that one as well.” 
A frown formed on her face as he told her of his mother—another look inside him that filled in more blanks. I'm sorry, she told him somberly. How was she— she started, swallowing. —after the fight. Did she live? Did she continue on with only three legs? Or did she not make it past that day? She didn't know much about his parents, and she was curious about them. Much of his behavior could likely be contributed to his upbringing. 

His admittance made her want to offer one of her own, although she hesitated a moment; it was difficult to say the words after she spent so much time trying to push it all deep down inside where she wouldn't have to deal with it. She swallowed again and nodded. I usually dream about the same thing, Simmik offered softly. The setting is usually different, but he is always there. She shook her head as her eyes tightly shut.
Kyn’s ears shift as she speaks quietly with a question and apology on her lips. He feels as if she has more to say, so he silently looks down to her. The pale woman seems hesitant in her want to release too much information. More like, she doesn’t want to even think about it.

When she admits being unable to escape this mysterious person, he knows exactly who it is. He somehow feels guilty. His wicked mind instantly conjuring up the image of the small agouti woman he too did unspeakable acts with. Then to the moment during his and Simmik’s fight where he even dared to threaten something of the sort. Yet, another part of him — the uncaring, violent, sick part of him — gives him reason to do so. He tells himself that he is opportunistic; he will do anything to win. That is why he has survived so long despite the way he’s lived his whole life. He will do anything in his power to win — anything to get what he wants and he almost disgusts himself at times. The worst part is that he only sometimes cares and he can’t even make himself when he doesn’t. 

Still, he feels his ears press to his skull in shame as she mentions the wolf that forcefully took advantage of her. He continues on about his mother for now though. 

“She lived. Carried on with three legs and was unable to fight afterwards. Knew she was too susceptible to getting killed if she did. My father wouldn’t let her after that. Said he was too afraid to lose her and only realized it after she was almost gone.” He says the last words sentimentally, softly. 

Just as he says the next words. “Is he dead?” Donovan asks hesitantly, referencing to her attacker.
Whatever softness had been in her expression while he spoke of his parents instantly vanished, replaced with anger and disgust. She looked away, her shoulders tensed and her stomach churning. No, she answered darkly. I never got the chance to go after him. Mal didn't want me to go on my own, she explained. He wasn't happy about me requesting to be the one that killed him either, but that was always my plan. She sighed, the tension leaving her body and her shoulders sagging as she deflated. Now I just want to forget all of it. I'm just tired of feeling this way. It seemed impossible, though. No matter what she did, the thoughts and feelings always found their way to the surface. 

She wanted to ask more questions about his parents; that subject was safer and more comfortable than her past. But now that it was out, the feelings gripped her tightly. She knew she would pay for bringing this all up with him. She would spend the next few nights waking from nightmares and the next few days being grumpy during her waking hours because she was just too exhausted by the weight of her trauma to devote anything to anyone else. It was all a vicious cycle she wished to be free of no matter the cost.
He listens to her solemnly, hearing the anguish and rage hardly concealed in her voice. He wants to help her forget it. Yet, how could he? She knows what Donovan had done and she has to sleep with his ass every night. Has to constantly be around him all the time. How could she forget her rapist when she is constantly bunking with another? He shakes his head at his own self loathing thoughts. Perhaps she doesn’t see it that way. Or maybe she does and is just too afraid to say something. 

So almost without his consent his mind forces his mouth to speak. “Are you afraid of me?” He pauses. “For what I’ve done?” He finishes the thought. 

Simmik would be able to tell his question was sudden but hesitant. A true inquiry of his lover. He needs to know. Even as he looks down to her, shame evident in his eyes. He doesn’t want Simmik to hate him. He’d do anything to prove his worth to her.
He all but blurted out his hesitant question, and it surprised her; only a slight frown showed on her face as she looked up at him. Her probing gaze studied his face as though she were trying to deduce whether or not he actually cared what her answer was. What she found in his expression made her heart skip. Shame—she knew it when she saw it; she had felt it enough lately. Maybe that was why his own further doused her anger.

She swallowed and tightened her jaw a moment as she tried to find her words. Her frown smoothed to something far softer. I'm not afraid of you, she told him quietly. I hate what you've done, but I'm no longer afraid that you would do it again. She had seen his guilt over it more than once. More than anything, though, there had plenty of chances for him to take advantage but he hadn't. She had slept next to him every night, and he had accepted any signal she had given that she wasn't ready to do anything other than curl up next to him or be affectionate. 

She nuzzled him and rested her had against him to look out over the snow. So far, you have proven that you wouldn't treat me that way.
Donovan sits patiently awaiting her next answer. Stealing himself for the worst just in case, yet when her words reach his ears it’s much better than he thought. It seems she has forgiven him. Or something close to it at least. He doesn’t quite notice it but he finds himself releasing a deep sigh. 

“I see.” He says, quite at a loss for words. “You’re right. I would never do such a thing to you, darling.” He moves to lap a wet tongue over the top of her head almost comically. “And I’d kill anyone who even thought to treat you like that.” He rumbles down to her. It’s a promise, the seriousness evident in his voice.
She leaned into his affection, reaching up to softly kiss the line of his jaw in return. I know, she answered after a moment. Then she paused, frowning as she searched for his gaze. And will you ever use it against me again? she asked. You've done that twice now. She looked away, anger building in her chest as she spoke. She needed to know, though, because: I won't allow that either. There was promise of retaliation in her voice and in the fiery depths of her eyes and she looked up at him again. 

As for his promise, nipped lovingly at his jaw. I appreciate that, but if anyone ever tries to do that to me again, I will kill them myself. She liked his need to protect her, but she wasn't weak, and she wanted to make sure he understood that now. She showed him her vulnerable side but that, in no way, meant that she was softer—she was still a warrior, regardless of where she was, and she would act like one when it was needed.
He hums pleasantly as she laps at his jawline, the sound smooth and low. Yet it’s interrupted by the her pressing question. 

And will you ever use it against me again?

He looks down to her and intensity in his eyes that matches the brightest of suns. “No. I swear it.” He says deeply. 

Yet as she nuzzles against him once more he sighs. “Then I will watch you rip their throat out with glee, darling.” He hums lovingly.
Good, she told him sternly. His compliance in that regard made her trust for him grow a little, as well as bringing up more softer feelings—ones that had been overpowered lately by her anger with him.

She also liked that he was in full support of her taking on the monster or anyone else that wanted to attack her. He wouldn't try to shield her from fighting like she was some delicate flower. She was a warrior and she appreciated his willingness to let her flourish. She also liked the excited gleam in his eye in response to her declaration. It caused excitement in her own chest as she imagined the scene. She nipped his jaw for that one—playful affection to show her gratitude. 

Then she got to her feet and shook out her fur. She turned to stand in front of him, invitation in her expression. Want to spar? she asked. It had been a long time since they had done that, and she had a lot of anxious energy she wanted to work out. She shifted to stand taller, although he would still stand much taller. Her tail waved sporadically at her hocks as she waited for him to accept.
Good. She says sternly and it almost makes him shiver in delight. Oh does he love it when Simmik pushes him around. He’s hopeless. Thinking with his most southern region has literally gotten him nowhere but trouble in his life, but he can’t seem to reason with himself. Especially since his love is as stunning and strong as Simmik is. It only makes his love for her swell even more. 

Releasing a huff of breath at her word, she nips his jaw and he’s chuckling back to her. Eyes widening at her sudden playfulness as she moves back and stands tall, requesting a spar. 

The Grandmaster’s ears perk up and his tail shames him as it wags uncontrollably. “Oh, darling, I never thought you’d ask.” Then his eyes shift suggestively. “It’s been too long.” He’s humming as he widens his stance and gets ready for an attack. “Ladies first.” He chirps lastly.
She returned his suggestive smile with one of her own. Her expression quickly turned into something more focused, though, as he offered to let her have the first move. His mistake.

She walked to the side, her gaze roaming over his form. She knew she would need to be sneaky—he was still more skilled than she was, and he knew her body language well. So she sauntered up to him, nipping at his jaw and rubbing her entire form against his chest, directly under his nose. Her tail brushed under his chin and she lingered there a moment before walking away. She was aiming to distract him, and she knew that likely would. She took a few steps and then quickly turned back and lunged for him, her teeth aiming to sink into his leg and aiming the force of her body to his chest to try and knock him off balance.