Iktome Plains white rabbit

It is one struggle to the next. @Kitsch and she eventually find their way out of the woods that took more time than she’d prefer. Distance is the only thing she needs right now but it weighs her down, letting the damaged girl to slow her down even more. The tangle of the thick brush takes most of the time from her steps, occasionally snagging one of her nails in the strong grip until it snaps away. The sight of the trees in the distance, leading new lands she’s never crossed, gives her hope for something easier to travel.

“We will find somewhere to sleep for the night,” she says, looking toward the sky. There is still day light left in the day but she knows Kitsch is more travel weary than she is, however she can feel the pain settling in as her body craves for ease. Even if she tries to search for the poppy along their travels, it has taken a backseat with the wolf tagging along but she does not know how long it will last before her body betrays her. West swallows thickly, grumbling when her nail snags another stem, shaking her foot until it gives away.

He breaks into a run as soon as his reaches the plains, for the pure enjoyment of running. The mute is ecstatic as he does so, tongue lolling out of his mouth, which is open wide in a wolf-smile, his tail streaming behind him as a banner. He knows he might look ridiculous, but he is swept by the sudden calm that descended over them. The Neredies had disappeared, relieving them of the tension that came with a close rivalling pack. Spring had finally arrived after a nightmare of a winter. Life was good and he celebrated with a run, attempting to make for the rocks (really wolves) in the distance before turning round and heading back to Drageda.

They moved slowly, albeit consistently — and still Kitsch did not question her doyen. The woman ushered her to some unknown deliverance, and the girl trusted in the fact that West wouldn’t steer her towards trouble. So far, the shewolf had upheld her word and assured her . It was nice. Kitsch had to trust West, to put her faith in something and understand that everything would be okay despite the instability of their travels and companions….

…mostly because she was becoming increasingly worried that West would come to the realization that Kitsch was more of a burden then she was valuable. He had made sure she internalized her worthlessness and understood it deeply. These gnawing insecurities led her to do things the girl normally wouldn’t — namely proffer no complaints and keep up a pace unnatural for her haggard form. Kitsch even attempted to hunt, but her spoiled were limited to mice and dauntless squirrels. Often times, but Kitsch would pull away to sate her hunger on berries, tender leaves and other springtime in order to feign her bellyfull. It was the wastrel’s wish that everything West caught go to hunter herself, and Kitsch would take no more than necessary to keep her watchet eyes bright and energy up. Was it strange for the princess to give another such reverence and forsake her desire to take, take, take everything that was given to her? Of course, but the girl was concerned only with her own survival — and that solely lay in West’s seemingly hands.

And now West wanted to stop, so she would stop.

”It’s so open…” she commented softly, letting her aria taper off and drift away as inkstand brows knitted together. Her head swung from side to side, taking in the flatness and exposedness of the area. Plains were not safe. He had found her in a field. In fact, this place reminded her of that place, as hazy as the memories were. Then, faint footsteps in the distance. Suddenly, her heart seized and she looked at West beseechingly. Don’t let him touch me.