Firefly Glen Take you like a drug;

Her forelegs pushed herself up to be seated. The small meal gave her a refreshing dose of energy. 

Oh—I don't dodge, I dance. She allowed a small smirk to appear, as if amused by her own words. 

Winter was her favorite season. The snow, the cold, the bite. 

The hint to the past wasn't missed but she refrained from bringing attention to it. If she poked her nose, what would stop him from doing the same? She was disinclined to set Cole up for failure. 

A temporary arrangement, then?

To get through the winter well-fed. Stay, if the stars aligned and a fondness grew. 

Moonlit eyes gazed up at the sky. The silver of moon had yet to rise. Only stars shined down, blinking a code she could only hope to decipher.

Cole raised an eyebrow at Arnarkla's mention of dancing, a hint of a smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. He decided to hold his tongue about the imagery it conjured, knowing better than to underestimate the depth of a wolf's words.

When she asked about the temporary arrangement, he shrugged, his expression thoughtful. Ain’t some kind of floater, he replied, a playful glint in his pale eyes. It takes a lot to get rid 'o me.

As he spoke, he noticed the energy returning to her, the way she held herself with renewed strength after their shared meal. He appreciated that she wasn't one to shy away from the colder truths of their situation.

The winter’s tough, he continued, glancing up at the stars as they sparkled overhead. An' I'm sure 'yer capable. But it'd be a helluva lot easier to have a group.

Arnarkla hummed, lilted by a chuckle that wanted to come out but stifled. She didn't doubt his capability of becoming a thorn in one's side. A rose's thorn. 

The insistence, while polite, made her head tilt toward him to regard him from the corner of her eye. Gaze scrutinizing but alight with amusement. 

You're quite the diplomat. Do you recruit everyone like this?

Cole couldn’t help but chuckle softly at Arnarkla’s playful scrutiny. Her amusement was infectious, and he felt a sense of ease in her presence.

Diplomat? Hardly, he replied, a hint of mischief in his tone. More like a wolf who knows a good deal when he sees one.

He leaned back slightly, his posture relaxed, though his pale eyes remained focused on her. As for recruiting, well, I suppose it depends on the company.

He paused, gauging her reaction, a playful grin spreading across his muzzle. But with a dance partner like you, maybe I’ll reconsider my approach.

"Dance partner" had her glancing away with a click of her tongue, as if chiding him. Her eyes returned to the umbral heavens. Flanks heaved as she drew in a long breath of the cool air. And then her gaze fell upon the mountains eastward, the ones she meant to trek until hunger took the reins. 

Where do they live? she asked. A beat later, she added: If you're at liberty.

She could always sniff them out if she were so inclined. By this point, she had grown accustomed to Cole's scent.

Cole’s ears twitched with a hint of amusement at her reaction, but he kept his face composed as he followed her gaze eastward.

Truth is, I don’t know exactly where they’re holed up, he admitted with a shrug. I’ve been around enough to get close, but never quite over that line.

He looked back to her, his pale eyes thoughtful. Guess you could say I know just enough to keep the curiosity alive.

Wise, she uttered, more to herself. A pack that let just anyone in and shared all they had without so much as a trial period always raised her suspicions. It begged questions of ulterior motives or a sheer lack of responsibility.

She regarded him again. There was a scar across his hooked snout. She pondered that past of his alluded to.

And what do you know? she asked, curious of the response she may be given, whether it would speak more of the pack or of Cole.

Cole gave her a long look, unbothered by her scrutiny and her curiosity. The faint light cast a shadow over his scar, a silent reminder of what he'd earned but never flaunted. He tilted his head, half in contemplation and half as if to shrug off her question.

Enough t'know what I need t'know, he said slowly, voice carrying a hint of finality. The rest— he let his gaze linger over her, unreadable, —I learn in time.

The answer was as much a reflection of him as it was a response to her question, an invitation for her to fill in the blanks or leave them be.

Somethin' you should find out yer'self. With me, the words hung from his lips.

The response was vague. She couldn't tell if it was from some devotion he felt toward them or if it was the pack keeping their cards close to their chests, leaving Cole with little to share. But, as he said, she could find out for herself. 

Fair enough, she said, with a small cant of her head. Touché.

Her skull tilted back to gaze fully at the sky, like the stars would weave an answer and bless her with it. They twinkled. A crowd of blinking, staring eyes. She wished the moon would rise already. She wanted to lay eyes on it, even just the sliver. A sliver of him to find her certainty. The stars and moon were as in the dark as she was. Cryptic. 

Inky lips parted to let a response fall out when a shooting star beamed across the sky, only for a second. 

Stjörnuhrap.

Cole’s gaze lingered on her as she tipped her head back, her eyes awash with a kind of awe that even he couldn’t ignore. The sky above them was a canvas of inky darkness, speckled with stars scattered like frozen dew, and he could almost feel the pull of the night—the vastness of it—through her.

He let himself fall into the same silence, his own head tilting to follow her line of sight. The stars winked down, cold and remote, but dazzling in their way. Then a streak cut across the night, white-hot and fleeting, disappearing before his eyes could follow.

Stjörnuhrap, she murmured, as if the word were meant only for the star’s brief, fiery life.

Cole watched her a moment longer, the foreign word rolling off her tongue soft and reverent, leaving him curious. The way she’d spoken it gave the moment weight. Something about it felt tethered to a memory, or perhaps a place far from here.

He glanced back to her, drawn by the mystery as much as her quiet awe. Stjörnuhrap, he echoed, testing the word on his tongue with a quiet intensity. Though it was heavily butchered with his own accent, he still gave it his best shot. What’s it mean? he asked, his voice low, though he made no effort to hide the intrigue in his eyes.

The question was lost in the current. It took a bit for it to reach the stream of her thoughts. 

Star fall—shooting star, in the common tongue.

She looked back at Cole. The invitation had not been forgotten. His presence was quiet but formidable; something kindred. She enjoyed his presence, perhaps more than she should. More than she cared to. His camaraderie had rubbed off on her, much to her chagrin. 

It wouldn't hurt, she said finally.

Cole’s gaze drifted over her, catching a glint in her eyes that, for a moment, held all the awe of a shooting star’s descent. His voice softened, his words slipping between them, barely more than a murmur. What’dya wish for?

Her answer lingered between them, elusive, but there was something about the look she gave him—something unguarded, if only for a heartbeat. He felt a grin tug at the corner of his mouth, wry but warm.

Wouldn’t hurt, huh? he echoed, leaning in just enough to meet her eyes fully. So, was it my charm that’s got you thinkin’ about stickin’ around? I gotta know, ‘cause I’ve been known to turn heads now and then.

His tone was light, but his gaze was steady, watching her with genuine curiosity wrapped in his easy drawl. Though you don’t strike me as the type to be swayed that easy.

Wish? She cocked her head. The question seemed out of the blue, but the way it rolled off of his tongue made her think it was somehow related to the star. 

Arnarkla clicked her tongue at the mention of his charm. His ego seemed stoked enough; she was disinclined to feed the fire. 

She glanced toward the mountains again. 

It's as you said: softening winter's blow. If I think I could fit well enough.

She was still prepared to spend the winter on her own. In a way, it was easier. No disappointments.

Cole let out a small chuckle, shaking his head. A wish—just an old wives’ tale, he said, his tone easy and slightly teasing. You see a star fall, and you think maybe it’ll give ya somethin’ you want if you ask nice enough. Mostly just talk for pups and hopeless romantics.

The corners of his mouth twitched as he caught her sidelong glance at the mountains, catching the almost reluctant warmth in her words. But nah, I’m just messin’ with ya. Winter or no, I wouldn’t mind your company. Might even be what keeps me warm. His grin turned a little more earnest. Ain't always gotta fit perfectly, just well enough.

He didn’t press her choice, simply let his offer sit there, easy and open as the stretch of land between them.

Magic of the stars. Superstition, he seemed to think, but she had noted his curiosity. Her wish might have been to wish for that to be true. She could read the stars and she had made countless wishes of her own. None manifested into reality. 

Did you make a wish?

A brow quirked at the thought of her being the thing that makes him warm. Just words, she told herself. 

I think you'll find me cold, she said. 

It was in her blood.

Cole let a quiet hum linger between them, mulling over her question. He’d made his fair share of wishes under the stars, but he wasn’t about to share the details, especially not with someone as guarded as Arnarkla. Mmm, he hummed at last, eyes still on the sky, I made one. But what’s a wish worth if you speak it out loud? Secrets keep it bound to come true.

At her words about running cold, he let his gaze drift back to her, catching the faint amusement there. She was trying to make a point, yet he wasn’t so easily swayed by words. With a slight nod, Cole lifted his paw and bit down just enough to feel a sharp warmth bloom. A crimson bead welled at the surface, and he held it up between them, watching her eyes track the movement.

Blood’s warm enough, see? he said, voice carrying a steady weight, though the hint of a smirk touched his lips. I reckon yours runs just as hot, whether you like it or not. Ain’t no one really cold at their core.

With that, he lowered his paw, wiping the blood absently against the earth. His gaze lingered on her a moment longer, studying her with a calm, steady curiosity, as if daring her to disagree.

Secrets keep it bound to come true.

She mulled the words in her mind. Her own experience proved them false but having heard them aloud by a stranger—she liked to think it was true. 

Arnarkla watched him raise his paw to his maw. He bit down on the appendage. There was no shift in her expression besides the flash of intrigue in her gaze, curious as to what Cole was leading up to. 

Blood was warm, he said. In a literal sense, she had to agree. 

Do you really believe so? she asked, voice low and genuine. 

Haunting eyes fell on the scar on his face.

Cole held her gaze, his steady nod a silent answer to her question, as if to affirm his own belief and hers in one gesture. Secrets, after all, were like unspoken wishes: bound to stay hidden and maybe—just maybe—come true.

As he watched her, he caught the way her eyes lingered on his scar, her curiosity quiet but plain. He was used to it, yet there was something different in her look, a purpose he couldn’t quite place. He let the silence settle between them, feeling the weight of her intrigue press against his chest. Without breaking her gaze, he tilted his head, voice low with a faint rasp, just enough to invite her closer into his world.

You want to know about it?

The question made her look up at him. There was a flash of something youthful in her expression, like a pup caught past curfew, but it didn't last. 

Yes, she said, holding his gaze. 

She was wading through unfamiliar waters. A shooting star may have been a chance for a wish to come true but to her it was a sign. An omen.

Cole's gaze softened, the weight of past choices pressing upon him as he lifted his head. Revealing the scars that marked his throat, he let his eyes drift over them, tracing each line in his mind as if they still pulsed from the memory. The story wasn't an easy one to tell, and he chose his words with a kind of quiet reverence.

He was my blood, he murmured, almost to himself. Youngest of us both, though... always stubborn. He paused, the weight of the unspoken truth hanging between them—that he was stronger, had always been the elder, the protector. But he never spoke of that, nor did he need to.

His voice grew soft, as if the memory deserved gentleness. I never wanted that fight. But when it came, there wasn't much choice left. He nodded to himself, as if he’d settled some private turmoil long ago. Then he returned his gaze to Arnarkla, watching her reaction, wondering if she understood what it meant to stand by family, even when the path led only to broken ties and painful choices.

Cole’s gaze turned distant, drifting somewhere far beyond the quiet night around them. I didn’t kill him, he murmured, voice heavy with something close to reverence. My own damn brother. Baby brother. The words softened, yet a hard edge lingered, a rough reminder of everything that had come between them.

He exhaled sharply, almost bitterly amused. He was a joiner, see—turned by some religious nuts talkin’ about how he’d become a God for tryin’ his own blood. You know, that whole mess of delusions and dogma. His lips pulled back in a grim smile, the memory carrying a fresh sting. A fuckin’ joiner. But family, still.

He sighed, his voice dropping to a quiet murmur, tinged with an odd regret. We haven’t seen each other since. His gaze shifted back to Arnarkla, the faintest ache in his eyes. It was a finality he couldn’t shake, but he’d kept his hands from the worst. He’d let his brother live. And now they walked different roads, never crossing paths again.

More scars were revealed amongst the dark fur along his throat. She regarded them quietly, imagined the snapping and dragging of teeth. Her left ear was focused on his words. 

An inevitable duel. She was unsure if it was the tradition of a pack or a familial feud. Kin was always sacred but there was Arnarkla, alone. Cole alone.

The more he spoke, she realized it was less tradition and more a clash of blood because of a derailed, impressionable mind. A soft frown appeared by the end of Cole's story but not one of pity. 

Family, still.

She made a nod but her expression had gone blank like her soul had gone somewhere else. The mountain wolf was torn between letting it wander and reeling it back in. The latter won. She wasn't ready to retrace the steps of memory. 

Moonlit eyes returned to him from her reverie. 

Family, still, she echoed. 

Her tongue darted out to wet her nose. 

The pack—what did you say it was called?

She thought he might not wish to linger too long in history but that could have been her own projection.

Cole scoffed softly, his eyes narrowing as he tried to summon the name from the shadows of his memory. Ah, what were they… he muttered, his brow furrowing. Fireflies, or some shit. Some name they’d plastered themselves with, like it was something to be proud of. He shook his head, the words edged with disdain, yet laced with a strange, lingering disbelief. The past clung to him as tangibly as those scars along his neck.

He stretched his head higher, exposing yet more marks, faint but plentiful, etched into the dark fur of his throat. The wounds from that night hadn’t been shallow; they’d fought like rivals, blood blinding them both in the chaos. Cole’s gaze drifted, his jaw tightening. Family, he scoffed, his voice subdued, as if the word itself was a weight, heavy and unsteady on his tongue.

When he looked back to her, there was something softer in his eyes, though his expression remained rugged, untouched by pity or longing. Just an acceptance—a scar unseen but equally deep.

Don't mean jack t'me anymore. Needed it fresh. He waited. The lie dripping from his tongue. A beat of silence. You?

Fireflies... an odd moniker but she could imagine the symbolism: lights in the dark, stars upon the earth. But small, an insect nonetheless. Mindless and bound by routine. Short lives. 

The way he said "family" and his sentiment toward it intrigued her. How opposite it was to the values she had been raised to believe. In a way, her being on her own was just as rebellious. 

Me? Her head tilted, feigning coyness.

Cole gave a low chuckle, tilting his head to study her with a mischievous glint. Yeah, you, he prodded lightly, arching a brow. You’ve got all the mystery in the world, but fair’s fair, ain't it? You wanted a glimpse into my story, and now it’s your turn. Can’t keep a man hangin'.

He leaned in just slightly, catching the playful way her head tilted, clearly not missing the coyness in her voice. Gotta say, I’m curious about what brought ya here, dancin' alone in the cold. He waited, his gaze steady, encouraging her with a grin that was both warm and teasing.

Tit for tat. She dreaded as much when she had said "yes" out of selfish curiosity. His energy brought a ghost of a smile to her features. 

Time, she said, shoulders lifted in a light shrug. It felt right. Home had stopped feeling like home, so now I look for a new one.

Comparatively, her life was more dull. She preferred it that way. At least, she thought so. Better than sticking out like a sore thumb. Better than reliving painful memories. If she never thought of it all, then none of it ever happened.

I'm not so interesting.