Broken Antler Fen there's no place like home

Lucy.

He felt the illusion seep out of his heart, out of his mind, and out of the air. It left him forlorn and wanting, and his heart resumed its normal cadence, the white wolf felt cold. It was relief and disappointment all it once. He inwardly chided himself. How foolish of him, to have allowed himself to be so entangled in that knot of coincidences.

The pair gradually came together. She was so similar and yet he could see she so different too. Lucy was smaller, and her eyes were not a young-leaf green but pale blue like a mountain stream. Captivating, but he did not allow his gold to hold them long before his gaze fell to the rope that hung from her slender neck.

Skwol's brows knitted. There was the source of the scent that had struck him; no amount of time or contamination could hide it — the devils' reek was woven tightly into those strange fibers. He had seen them before. The white wolf swallowed a growl.

"Lucy," he murmured, rooting himself to the present with her name. So powerful were his memories, was all that her presence stirred, that he needed to continue to take such measures if he were to maintain his composure. This was the danger in running, in burying one's pains and demons rather than facing them.

"Let me take that off you. Then let's find something to eat."