Panther Park white winter hymnal

She was carrying life. Sometimes Olive just knew things like this, even if she had not the empirical evidence to tell her so. The druid was incredibly in tune with her body and her subtle energies; it was a capability that lay latent within each wolf, but few accessed… and right then, everything about her spirit and aura whispered with life. It tingled from her belly and radiated to her toes and there was no mistaking it, though Olive had never before felt the touch of pregnancy upon her slight frame. It felt right. She felt complete. But, perhaps she was making it up; perhaps she had been driven made in the last few days of her heat. But her season had incredibly good timing, as the seclusion of their honeymoon gave them the privacy to couple again and again and again until there was no lack of certainty about Olive’s condition. 

So the lamb allowed herself to get excited and to revel in the perfectness of it all. Olive could not imagine that a relationship that was as perfect as their ever existed before. Did her mother and her father have a similar type of romance? Would they be proud of her? No doubt they would be surprised; for she seemed but a child herself! In the face of her winsome and youthful demeanor, many assumed Olive to be younger than she was… even her own parents often treated her as the baby, even though she was the second oldest. It was no matter — Olive appreciated the positive outlook that youthfulness provided and so she stuck to guns. Perhaps this should worry the child-like Olive, as she was about to undergo a very womanly transformation that was difficult for even the most experienced mother… but, for now Olive would allow the concern to roll unceremoniously from her shoulders [just as she had done with Arturo’s warning]. For now, she would sit appreciatively and luxuriate in the unadulterated bliss that was her life.

The winter had become bitter cold; with the temperatures dropping and atmospheric pressures rising astronomically. This had been wholeheartedly unexpected and when Olive’s hormones could not longer keep them warm, the couple had been forced to descend the Sunspire and seek shelter. There was a coniferous forest near the summit and the sturdiness of the trees reminded her of Ravensblood [of course, these titans lacked the signature crimson smiles of home]. The tree canopy sheltered the earth somewhat and kept the worst of the winds and snow at bay, though the air was still brisk and iced. It was here that the two kindred spirits moved their rendez-vous and Olive was happy there as she would have been anywhere. 

The scope of Olive’s world narrowed to that of a single forest, so the druid found herself exploring and moving about the confines of their wooded hotel. In the process she had come across a bush of frozen blackberries and she ate them hungrily, picking them individually off of the vine with her dexterous tongue. The taste was reminiscent of sunshine; something that had been missing from her life in abundance ever since the storm had whipped up. The delicacies were a wonderful treat and when she had freed the vines from those pesky berries, Olive turned foot to seek @Dakarai. It did not take the sylph long to locate her lover and she immediately greeted him with kisses, her pale visage [stained berry-purple] rubbing against his own. “You must be hungry, my king,” Olive suggested with a flash of humor, hinting that she had slaked her own hunger without him [and pretending that her rose-painted maw didn’t completely give it away].

At the sight of his pregnant wife's berry coated maw, he chuckled deeply breathing in the sweet scent of her breath as she kissed him. Her comment made him pause for a moment to consider how he physically felt, and the response was an audible growl from his stomach. Giving her a sheepish grin he nodded "I should hunt." He agreed almost apologetically as he knew she didn't like killing anything, even prey.



Sniffing at the ground as they walked he caught scent of something that made him lift his head and sniff with interest. He bounded away a few feet and pawed at the snow, uncovering the remains of elk feces. Gleefully he recognized the specific smell of the herd he had tracked before "it's them. The same herd. I wish to check it out if I may?"  He requested, not wanting to do anything that would upset Olive.

He was hungry, she knew even before he opened his big beautiful mouth to speak. They had been kept incredibly busy for [what was supposed to be] an unfettered peregrination, leaving them not much time to feast. First, they had wed. Then, they had procreated. Then, volatile weather kept them constantly moving, seeking better shelter as the snow fell and descended around them. Those significant life events were lubricated with playing, laughing, singing and dancing. Their schedule was also encumbered by the additional burden of Olive’s minuscule attention span, which followed every moving shadow and every snapping twig. Due to this, much of their time was simply spent exploring, conquering new lands and learning about these new places together. Though she had always loved to travel in seclusion, it was much, much, much better to travel with her kindred spirit. Before, her traveling was almost a type of liturgy; a way to dedicating herself to the earthen spirits she admired so. For that the act deserved some sort of sobriety, but here she was, drunk as a skunk on her hot love for her dark king… and she had never felt so consecrated in her life.

Perhaps there was more than one way to serve a god.

 No matter where they were in the world, it felt like home. It made Olive yearn for her time as a vagrant; those liberated 8 months she spent living amongst the world and its oddities. The lamb longed to run away with him. It was so tempting, to never face the world and its trivialities again — but her love for Teaghlaigh [and the teensy tiny babies in her belly] kept her tied to the eventual end of their honeymoon. They couldn’t keep this pace forever, especially not with the temperature dropping as quickly as it was.

But in the meantime, she would enjoy these carefree weeks. This was her time to spend time with Dakarai, to love him and to learn everything there was to know about him. Olive marveled at the way in which Dakarai viewed the world; when he spoke she drank in every word, appreciating the thoughtfulness in his comments while tasting his voice’s divine uniqueness. She loved that realness about him. Dakarai made her see things that she had been blind to before. If they came across a beetle, it would be Olive who spoke of the beetle’s spirit and Dakarai who made sure she did not miss the beauty that lay in it’s polished, jade-green shell. Dakarai brought her down to earth, like an anchor — and it came from a place of love and caring. It was all so reassuring. 

When he asked her to hunt, she knew that she could not rightfully deny him this [for their corporeal feast could not satiate real hunger]. Not many wolves would choose to devour berries, leaves and roots over the act of killing and devouring prey — her husband included. She could not fault him for this, as he was free to make those types of decisions for his own life. It wasn’t as if Olive never indulged in flesh [she was a carnivore, afterall] but simply sought to distance herself from the act of taking a life. …But Olive had been feeling particularly free and footloose that day relished the idea of moving her body in and mind in a tactical way. A herd was scented and a question was asked. The misty druid gave one, affirmative nod and followed him as he began to track down their prey. This is where Dakarai shined and she would let him take over completely.

Where were they headed? If Marlowe were being completely honest, it was not a predetermined path. The harem traveled upon his whim and ambitions and they were all too happy to do so. He directed them across massive tracts on lands at the behest of his nose, following vegetal, earthly scents to their next rendezvous site. The brute did not travel blindly and operated keenly on balanced reservoirs of fortitude, pugnacity and caution. He would never endanger his wives and his children in the name of food and he always ensured an identifiable escape route was within reach. He could easily fight predators, of course, but the most survivable option was to flee [as wolves and other fanged creature were much to dextrous of assailants to be flustered for long]. 

The winter had very quickly become harsh. This winds whipped and blew mercilessly, pushing up large piles of snow and making the land incredibly inhospitible. It was hard for the herd of lumbering animals to move, see, hear, taste and smell - even Marlowe had a difficult time making sense of left and right at times like this. The ice numbed all their outward facing senses... and even some inward senses. Marlowe had to steel his thoughts and emotions... for if he felt the brunt force of trauma every time the cold felled another one of his own, his heart would surely burst. So numbed felt the hulking brute, that he strode away from his harem for a moment’s solitude. He rarely experienced true silence and he relished it, as his sense of commitment would soon drive him back to lead his bubbling faction of women and children. He drank in the iced winter air, the moisture of which rode heavy upon his exhale and evaporated, smoke-like, back into the gentle breeze. This moment's reprieve he would allow himself; for he would leave his harem for no longer than a few minutes. 

There stood the king and his  herd, sipping from the fresh cold of the water. Dakarai crouched down beside olive and watched the magnificent beast for a few seconds before scanning the land for the rest of the herd. He counted several women and children, and began to creep through the tall grass and behind them for a better view.

Experieced eyes took note of the healthy women and the strong children, dismissing them from his list of targets for they would be needed to continue the life within the harem. Then he spotted an elderly doe, head curled against her side and breathing weak. He had made his decision. He snuck into the harem giving a guttural snarl to scatter the harem. Making quick use of his strength he sprang at the resting doe, forgetting to check on the herd master's whereabouts.

As much as she loathed to admit it, Olive knew that she would need to amend her diet for the next nine weeks. Her body was busy splitting cells and replicating DNA and that required . Perhaps she would even start to voraciously crave meat, as she knew many pregnant women to do. There was no escaping that fate — but the entire burden could not be placed upon her husband, as dutiful and capable as he was. Without the support of a Teaghlaigh [for the time being], he would be hard pressed to catch enough prey for five of them. Plus, the more time he spent hunting alone was time spent away from her… and that thought was almost worse than the thought of killing.

But Olive had hunted and she had killed before. She was no good at it and her small size meant she was limited in the size of game she could take down. Still, the misted sylph elected to assist Dakarai in his task rather than stand by and watch. Her husband had large aspirations and sought the herd to large ungulates: she was sure he could use any help he could get, no matter how pathetic her attempt.

Olive allowed herself to be led by Dakarai and followed all of his cues, almost as if they were one mind split into two bodies. Her peridot gaze, alive with energy, bounced from Dakarai’s face [writ with the pains of strategy] to the herd who seemed so blissfully unaware of their impending doom. Olive swallowed to loosen the tightness and anticipation in her throat; though her mind protested, her stomach and legs and babies yearned for the hunt. Then, suddenly, Dakarai dashed off in a blur of black fur and snarls, creating noises she had never heard him make before. Olive had become so wrapped in her apprehension that her own assault was several second delay. The woman sprinted towards the thundering chaotic herd, several yards behind her husband. In the few seconds she had before she reached the scene, Olive carefully watched the scene’s every movement and tried to decided where she would be most needed.

Madness! Chaos! It was the sounds of Marlowe’s worst nightmare. From between the trees it echoed, paralyzing him with dread. He had stepped away for a singular moment and subjected his most beloved to an unreal form of fear and torture. To fear for your life, to know the pain that lay waiting in the mouths of hunters — it was something he would never wish his upon the worst of his enemies. And it happened so often! The blizzard and the dropping temperatures had not been enough, apparently; the world had to throw blood thirsty predators at them as well. Such was the life of wild game.

Marlowe could no longer lament the stupidity of his abense — action must be taken. His family would no longer be victims to the bloodthirsty whims and torturous hungers of creatures so much weaker and smaller than he.  Strong, sinewy legs carried him boorishly to the epicenter of the panic. Marlowe’s expansive antlers hit against the thick forest timbers as he thundered and veered this way and that, leaping and bucking and snorting with distinction. “Away! Away from here!” he bellowed vociferously, to both their assailants and the women and children of his harem. The brute hoped the elk would take heed of his instructions [rather than panicking and becoming a swirling, pulsing sea of unmoving bodies, as they were prone to do] but he knew the predators would not. 

Then, he was upon them. It was difficult to see exactly what was happening, but amongst the chestnut-colored swarm and white snow upon the ground one thing stood out drastically: the black wolf who had slain his child. Marlowe remembered every life slain under his authority [it was one of those burdens of leadership] and the memory was like gasoline, combusting within his chest and fueling him.

Revenge blinded Marlowe - his vision had darkened around the periphery and focused entirely, solely on the demon. Rather than turning and fleeing with the rest of his herd, the lumbering maniac charged at the minuscule creature who believed itself to be so fierce. Fierce he would no longer, for Marlowe was king. Marlowe was fierce. Marlowe was strong and smart and would never let such evil befall his charges.  It was these thoughts that flashed through the brute’s mind as he lashed out at Dakarai, hooves seeking to maim and harm and draw upon the snow with his warm, crimson blood.

It was going so well, His wife even moved to help him out! then the loud bellows of an angry Elk hit his ears and he looked up snarling in warning. This was his meal, his food to provide for his wife that was bearing children! he would not be brought down by some stupid mass of meat and flesh! He had already sank his fangs into the Doe that was near death, and ended her life so the herd master's defending was not nescessary but merely stupid.


He saw olive come upon them just as the large buck swung his hooves and a cold shot of fear struck his heart. Standing up he shoved Olive to the side "No! Stay Back!" he shouted and just as he managed to get her out of the way, he was struck in the head multiple times by the raging beast. No yelp left his maw, but instead he slumped to the ground his breath heaving with shock as the world faded to black. dont hurt her... was the last thing he thought before the world of pain went black.

ever the hero :')

;___;

His limbs lashed out and met their mark; the stupid man had made it so easy. The beast was so used to his foes evading his hooves, like poison-tipped bayonets, feinting away and coming around again. This creature skipped the entire first part completely and went right towards him, knocking the tiny pale one out of [unintentional] victimhood. She went out of range and he came into range, so  Marlowe’s strong strikes fell upon him, in quick succession. 

Thud, thud. 

The roaring beast knew he had made contact but could not acknowledge where the blows had been placed. Marlowe had been blinded, his vision darkened further and further until he could not tell the emptiness from the dark fur of his victim. He was not prey in that moment, cursed to live in fear, but a predator: capable of maiming and injuring and killing. The pure power that pulsed through his body matched his raging breath, heaving and pulling to feed his rippling body with oxygen. 

Marlowe prepared to rise again and lash out but as the berserker came to, his vision regained structure and he saw the crumpled form of the wolf — nay, cub — below him. It was unmoving, both literally and figuratively. The shewolf, shrouded in mist, appeared to be stupefied with fear. She posed to threat to his harem, who by now had reconvened from the scene of the crime. There had been one casualty, one of his elder wives who had fallen ill, but Marlowe felt no grief. He was a vengeful man, but not an evil one. Instead of finishing the black brute Marlowe sneered at the shewolf, flaring his lips and probing her with his distinctive gaze. Yes, the two had slain another member of his harem… but at what cost to them?

It had been well about time for their comeuppance!

His women and offspring were safe and so Marlowe’s visceral need to protect abated.  His legs already begun to ache, as they were not intended for combat. No, that’s what his impressive rack was for; but antlers provided little protection from the groupthink of the wolf. He had been lucky that there had only been two assailants [and that one seemed to pose no threat at all], but Marlowe had impressed himself that day,so he raised his read regally and with some semblance of pomp and bravado, strut away from the star-crossed lovers to rejoin his own.

The beast appeared suddenly, with only the thunderous beating of hooves upon the earth to signal his arrival. But the sylph had been so focused on her swiftly impending blitzkrieg that she only truly noticed the titan when he entered the periphery of her vision above her, legs lashing towards her like vipers. Olive’s mouth slacked as her swimming, peridot crystal eyes swept upwards, up towards the underbelly of the bringer of her doom. The blood drained from her body, pooling in her legs and she found she was paralyzed. Eye for an eye had made the world blind.

Then, all the air was forced from her lungs and she fell hard upon the permafrost, her jaw clacking against her skull and limp body tumbling. The double impact [one from Dakarai, the other one against the ground] jolted her vision and she was unseeing for a minute, only feeling. The force and suddenness of it all, coupled with the fear of god, kept her upon the ground for several moments. Her body pulsed with hurt — but it was not the type of pain she had expected to feel. Olive’s head swam and she felt disoriented, but she eventually gathered her limbs and pushed herself up. She wasn't dead. 

But the titan was still there. He ridiculed her from afar, but Olive was much too transfixed with the mass of spilled ink at his feet to notice him. Olive’s breath, which had just begun to slip back into her bruised body, halted again. It was her king, and he wasn’t moving. She was frozen, paralyzed, unable to tear herself from her unearthly nightmare.

Even before the beast had stopped his jeering and walked away, Olive was upon the crumpled form of her husband. With effort she drew him into her twiggy arms and cooed and rocked him and ran her cold, dreadful tongue over him to draw the poisonous energies from his being. All too quickly it dawned upon Olive the impracticality of her artistries. She was at the mercy of the earth and could only interpret its energies, not harness them. She couldn't fix him. She couldn't heal him. Where was help? She wouldn't even know where to go about asking for such a thing. What was happening? Why was this happening? No. No. No.  

No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No.  

And she sat there, singing and crying, stringing together an eery melody of dread that carried deep into the forest that looked so much like home, but felt so far away.

:'( Im literally crying right now haha, oh man so many tears.

The darkness was a different type of peace completely, one where he could rest easy but not feel what he wanted to feel. No, here there was nothing but the ever so slight amount of consciousness that made sure he still breathed and kept living. He could not see her, feel her, hear her...wait. what was her? who was her? and what was that god-awful creepy singing that he could hear? slowly a light appeared in front of his vision and he whined, the small glint of light hurting him so badly. The singing grew louder, and he felt arms wrapped around him and smelled the scent of another. Who was holding him? was he in danger? A growl of warning slipped from his maw and he wrenched himself away from the strange wolf, eyes cracking open with distrust.

The pale woman that lay in front of him was beautiful (even with memories gone he marvelled at his queen) with eyes like dried moss. He stared at her stunned at first before backing up again, remembering his position "Who are you? Why was i in your arms?" he snapped. It seemed his mind had reverted to his assassin days in his old pack,though there still was a softness to him. God this was so confusing! he didnt remember anything about this place, not even the moment the hooves struck his head. It was as if he teleported from his home pack and landed here in this woman's arms. In a moment of dark humor he admitted that it wasn't such a bad thing, she was sexy after all.

Just like that, he was back again! But instead of slowly coming to, he gurgled and squirmed and then sprang from her loving caresses in a flurry of black velvet. Again, this assault was preceded only by an ominous noise, this time a low, rolling growl [similar to the cavernous beat of the berserkers hooves upon the earth]; a sound  which had been easily missed in her sorrows. The woman was both delighted and taken aback by his movement; but for a moment, all was right. He was alive and she was alive and they were no worse for wear. Hell, she would be angry too if she had just been pummeled and pulverized at the mercy of your own prey, so his alacritous reaction seemed, to her, justified.  Olive smiled at him, hope blossoming within her chest.

But then he spoke and her heart died. 

The difference between the two star-crossed lovers was palpable. It was less his words that drove a shiver down her ashen spine, and more his demeanor. Never before had she felt her lover regard her in this way, even when they were complete stranger upon the mountainside. Every nerve in her small body twisted and twanged in protest of this new reality. No. No. No. No.

"Dak?" she questioned, softly setting her pale body against the ground in an act meant to placate the angry man. She had never had to submit to him before.

 Then, she pleaded. “Baby, it's me.” Her voice felt heavy in her throat and thick in her mouth, burdened with emotion and reeling from loss. Loss of what, exactly? Dakarai was here, alive, in front of her. He was talking to her, very much alive. This man looked like Dakarai, but wasn’t Dakarai. It confused her and did not make sense. Shock kept her tears at back, for now — she was much too wracked with shock and horror to think about what it actually meant.

He backed further away as she reacted with a smile and then seemed confused. What the hell was going on here?! Only when she submitted did the twitching of his lips stop, and a more shocked look came over his face. She had said his name, not exactly his name but a...nickname. He had never allowed anyone to address him in such a way and it frankly pissed him off "Dakarai"  he snapped.

It was when she spoke again that he knew something really horrible had happened, for she called him baby. What had happened that he eneded up here, with another woman besides Oxsana. Where was Oxsana and his children? Were they safe? Then he saw how choked up and destroyed the woman looked and he flattened his ears "Look ma'am. I dont know who you are, but i have children and a woman waiting for me. Where am i?" He asked as softly as possible, the weakness he had always had for emotional women coming to the surface. Niko would kill him if he found out where he had gone, he was supposed to be tracking and scouting an enemy pack.

OOOO the extra drama from the mention of Oxsana >_< had to do it

Dakarai was talking about her, them. Olive was his woman. She was carrying his children. He remembered. Yet… he was looking right through her. Not seeing her. Not seeing his children flourish within her. Not seeing the love that she cast before him, offered to him freely and endlessly. It was all right there, but he didn’t see it and instead it crumbled under his harsh gaze. Olive felt herself crumble, too.

“You’re hurt,” the waif choked out, her gamine form clawing at the earth, creeping and inching towards him in an agonized prostration. If was here from her ragged place upon the cold dirt that she threw her swimming gaze up at her husband, the man who now looked down upon her with such uncertainty and ambivalence. She beseeched him. “Y- You just need to… rest a-a-and h-heal,” Olive said, struggling to keep the emotion from her voice and trying very hard not to simply wail like a child. The lamb was more trying to convince herself that he would somehow come to, once he healed up a bit more. Her poor,  poor husband was hurt — but she could not comfort him, could not reach him. Hell, she’d bet he wouldn’t even let her touch him. 

It seemed that any memory of who they were, what they were together was just… gone. To not have that for even a single moment was a most macabre form of torture. The pain of it was too great to ignore. As Olive tended to do when she experienced strong emotion, she found herself unable to stop talking; to try and rationalize this situation through words. 

“I want to help you.” 
“Let me help you.” 
“Let me help you. Let me, please”.
"Please."

All tact let her and she begged him plainly, desperately, clinging to their memories with all her might. Her eye squeezed shut and crystalline tears wet her cheeks. He may not know who she was, but she would not let him leave her. 

He felt bad for this woman, who so openly showed her hurt to him. Maybe he was hurt like she said he was, maybe something happened to oxsana and the kids. "Have I ever told you of Oxsana? If so please tell me what happened to her and my kids." he asked it with flattened ears, not truly wanting to know if Oxsana was dead.

She begged him to allow her to assist him, and he wanted to comfort her. The urge was so foreign that it made him uncomfortable. "fine. You will help me heal and then I'll move on" little did he know in the moment that when he remembered he would never leave, but for now he was still on a mission for alpha Niko.

omg why did we ever plan to do this i'm dying inside

Oxsana?At first, the strange word barely registered with Olive as the name of Dakarai's departed love of times past. Her mind was fraying, unraveling, trying hard to comprehend what was in front of her. She blinked at him without understanding his words; without understanding any of it. He tried to communicate but Olive resisted mentally, afraid of what other malaise his words would unearth. Milky paws, as small as pencil points, smothered her eyes and ear to shield herself from the fraudulence that accosted her every sense. The lamb rocked her chin on the ground and covered her woeful visage and cared nothing for how she looked or presented herself, for what was presentation in the face of the worst dread she had ever known?

For a moment the world was dark and Dakarai's deep voice faded from her perception and all was right. They were on the Sunspire, cavorting and laughing and singing with one another. Would he ever remember such magic? Would they ever be able to rebuild the love that flowed so uninhibited between them?  With these questions in mind, Olive undercovered her eyes and finally responded to him. "Oxsana is... fine. Your children are fine..." she was soft spoken, unsure what goal she was trying to attain with this fabrication. She remembered, now. Remembered how Oxsana had been murdered alongside their Children. It was a horror akin to the once she witnessed now... but that was a sadness for another time. Not now. He would understand later. 

The stranger was kind enough. He agreed to let to stay, to let her "heal" his wounds [though, at the time, the function of all her healing knowledge would be transfixed on recreating and rebuilding his memory]. But there was something in his voice which needled at her wounded psyche -- it was pity. Her king pitied her. And who wouldn't? She was the picture of anguish, with her mouth held agape, periodot eyes rolling, her voice cracking and breaking under the pressure of her crumbling past, present and future. But Dakarai was the one who never pitied her. He had seen the best of her, brought out the best, deserved the best. He agreed to stay but not out of love for her, but love for his fallen family. This would not do at all. This type of relationship would never do. 

"You...you don't remember me, my love?" the clamant women resorted to begging again. In her mind, she was pleading with god and using Dakarai as her vessel. She was clearly crying, her words twisting around her sobs and uncontrollable heaves. The wetness of her cheeks had now begun to seep down the fur of her neck and even to her chest, so plentiful were her tears. "Anthousai? You don't remember? ...Your perfect embodiment of peace. I'm here. I'm here. Remember me, please. Remember." More distraught than ever before, she threw herself into a forced embrace [whether he was to it receptive or not]. She needed his touch.

"My king, I'm h-here. I love you." 

The lie was so obvious to him that he could have laughed. She didn't realize who she was lying to did she, who she was telling fabricated truths to? He almost growled at her, wanting to punish this pitiful woman. Yet he couldn't bring himself to hurt her, it was as if Oxsana was close by and he could smell her scent. His eyes clouded over and he heard her. Maybe it was his head injury or maybe something miraculous really was happening but he heard Oxsana speaking. "Darling dear don't be harsh on this woman. You have amnesia my darling, you hit your head. This is Olive and she is your soulmate. It is destined for you to remember her someday soon, so for now try to soothe her for she is your only hope at a good life." He could feel her slipping away her scent fading.


He wanted to cry out to her but her words kept him silent. Olive was his soulmate, his only hope. He had thought Oxsana was his life, but apparently fate had another idea. The word Anthousai brought him back to the moment and he gave Olive a look of interest. He didn't remember calling her that but it made him smile slightly, until she closed the distance between them and embraced him. He stiffened up at her touch but slowly relaxed, remembering that he needed to comfort her. "im sorry if I'm hurting you, but I'm hurting too. I don't know where I am, who I've become or who you are to me. I...Trust you, but I don't know if I ..Love you I don't know anything anymore" he whispered softly and placed his chin on her head.

She nuzzled into him, taking everything she could from their embrace. But still the act felt hollow, as if it were under a microscope. She was judging their every movement — dissecting it to its very essence. Was the movement natural, or did it seem forced? Was there any semblance of electricity left in their touch? Did he feel the curves of her beautiful chest into his and feel that their heart beat as one? Or were they as every other wolf in the world, burdened with their white hot obligation? What once felt so natural felt so foreign. It disgusted her. She pulled away. 

It hurt the trembling lamb to hear him say those things. Just moments before they had been so happy, so carefree! Just a soon-to-be mother and a soon-to-be father enjoying the frivolities and lapping at the sweet waters of life. Now, it was all so complicated.  He trusted her? He had known her for only a second, and he already trusted her? Did her king give away his trust so freely? Or was that some latent memory [since forgotten], trying its hardest to poke its way through? And then there was his lack of love. It was so strange; the woman had never thought to hear those words uttered from his beautifully sculpted mouth. He would renounce everything before he renounced her; Olive was sure of it. But here he was, doing exactly that. Unreal.

But the woman had a back up.

"It's okay. That's alright," she spoke to Dakarai, but the words were meant for herself. “Our babies…” she curved her body and gazed at him, eyes become big green swelling pools a million miles wide. You couldn’t tell from looking at her that she was carrying life, but i showed through the fecund way she carried herself. “they love you, too. Just as I love you.” Without Dakarai's reciprocity, her passions seemed so... alien. misplace. forced. unnatural. "I can love..." she did not fear scaring him or turning him off, for this new [old?] Dakarai seemed plenty stubborn. "...enough for the both of us."

He felt a sharp pang of regret that he was hurting her, for even though he was raised to be unforgiving and cruel he could never bring himself not to care. He looked into her eyes and studied them as if just those wide orbs of mossy green could make him remember. Once again she mentioned her unborn children, their unborn children. He cursed himself and whatever had injured him for being so foolish.


He finally took a look around and saw the fallen doe. He huffed a sigh and nodded to it "please eat. The babies need it and so do you." He requested softly. He pushed himself to his paws and swayed almost falling over, his head swimming and throbbing with a fierce pain. He groaned and slumped to the ground, ears flattening as he struggled not to pass out again.

Olive’s turned her head away from the slain elk mother and grimaced. She could not eat! It was like he did not know her anymore [which, he really didn’t]. Everything and anything about this situation was revolting ad turn her stomach...and the clamant woman also did not like what the tainted flesh represented. Sometimes the cosmos needed time to work out their karma; but in this instance, universal reciprocity had worked itself out instantaneously. Taking this life had been wrong and it was all to clear by the god’s voodoo upon her light and love. It had been an affront to nature and life itself, so they deserved none of it. Nothing natural. No life. Never again. 

“You don’t know what I need,” Olive hissed, a sudden wave of frustration and disbelief overtaking her. Dakarai didn’t know her. He didn’t remember her, didn’t want her, didn’t love her. Why was he pretending to care, to know what she needed? The one thing, the only thing she needed he couldn’t give to her. It was all gone, vanished, and any paltry attempt to recreate their loving dynamic was grating and uncomfortable and kind of horrifying.

Then, her strange lover swayed. He steeled himself upon strong, stained forearms, but she could see his head swimming. Dakarai laid his wonderful body against the ground and seemed to be in pain. Suddenly, Olive’s frustration broke and she rushed to his side with an exasperated whine and curled around her unidentifiable husband. The druid canvassed his crown and examined his wounds, gently brushing the blood from his tangled fur with an attentive tongue. Not only was he concussed, but Dakarai stood a real chance of earning a nasty infection it was not taken care of soon. 

Where was Isley?! Why had the red woman left, and why was she not somehow with them now? What had Olive learned from Isley and her mother, and all those stimulating strangers she met on her travels? Suddenly her mind was blank, void of any and all information that she had ever learned about anything. The druid was a naturalist, not a healer after all — but the more she reflected on the subject, the framework began to demystify itself.  Arnica! She would need arnica. The summer plant would not be plentiful this time of the year [and surely not in such squalid conditions], but its properties helped to reduce swelling of the brain. Her mother had nearly force-fed the medicine to one of her brothers after their adventures led to [yet another] unceremonious head injury. Olive needed it. 

“Please stay,” she cooed to him, wishing her voice to be the emollient to his physical and spiritual pains. “I… I will go find medicine. This cannot wait.” Olive dreaded to leave him, but the sooner he the better chance he stood to remember. Olive didn’t want to get her hopes up, but it couldn’t be helped.  “Please, don’t leave.” Olive trusted Dakarai implicitly, but this man… she wasn’t so sure about this new man. Olive half expected that she would come to an empty bed, without even so much as a note to commemorate their exquisite type of love. "Please."

Dakarai merely glanced up at her as she hissed at him and shrugged "you are right, but I do have children. Unborn babies need nutrition. So if you cannot do it for yourself then be smart and eat for the children" he said bluntly. His voice had went back to cold indifference, for he wouldn't waste his time trying to be nice if she didn't want it.


When she asked him to stay he snorted but nodded "cant go anywhere anyway" he muttered and closed his eyes. He wanted to nap for a bit just to escape the throbbing of his head and the guilt that he had over this woman's pain.

Well now he was just being rude. 

“Okay,” Olive quipped not used to receiving this type of attitude from Dakarai. Olive felt herself spiraling and knew she had to remove herself from the situation; distance herself from the dark-furred vessel which caused her so much pain. Finding medicines provided such an excuse [despite being an invaluable part of his immediate recovery]. “I lov-“ she opened her mouth to whisper her adorations, but her mouth clipped shut. Not now. Then, the pale woman dashed off between the trees.

Seemed like a good place to fade :)