Panther Park fish in the sea of galilee

Dakarai was a serious man; that never seemed to change with the loss of his memory. Granted, he did have a lot of grave experiences within a short amount of time.  He was injured from the hooven beast, forced to relive the death of his first mate and first children had this stranger and her unborn pups forced upon them. Their experiences of his fugue state were much, much different but the effect was much to same: two sullen wolves, stripped of everything good they had ever known.  Right then, they were not good company.

The brute came and found her, his touch was still comforting. Dakarai felt the same beside her and when Olive closed her eyes, it was easy to pretend that he was still her husband. Still in love with her. That their life together would still be magical and transcendent and beautiful.  And when Dakarai sidled on up to her in the name of wamth, Olive did just that. She let her eyes slip closed and she pressed up against the warrior, listening to his words. He would stay, he would help to raise their children. For that, Olive was appreciative – but for how long would he concede to such a fate? Men held all the power in these types of situations, as only their seed was truly necessary for reproduction. She would carry these living things for nine weeks: the pups couldn’t survive without her womb, her milk, her love. It would be so easy for him to leave, but Olive never, ever could.

 Olive sat in self-imposed blindness, nodding along to her mate’s confessions. But then a toneless whine tickled the feathering of her hear and her alert eyes shot open, falling upon a rather nervous looking sheepdog. The shrouded fae raised to her feet almost immediately – this was the first time they had seen another since the accident, and this woman was familiar to Olive. “You – You were with Doe and Szymon.” The ash-and-cream woman stated rather plainly. Olive knew this woman preferred to stay silent, so there was no need to beat around the bush. “We need help.” Olive stated plainly. “He’s hurt,” she began, sweeping her head gently to gesture at Dakarai’s head wound. Olive was oblivious to whether or not their atramentous cohort had any knowledge in healing, but Olive would have taken anything at that moment… even a kind ear to burden with her own woes and sorrows.