Hideaway Strath Tore my shirt to stop you bleedin'

@Kynareth Deagon
early morning, 28 F, cloudy

A large, dark figure chased her through an unknown, dense forest. She had to weave around tree trunks and jump over large boulders, which only slowed her down. Every time she chanced a look behind her the figure was closer. Her heart beat against her ribs so hard that she thought it might burst from the confines of her chest. She desperately sucked in air, but she never felt like she could get a big enough breath. 

Her paws thundered furiously against the ground until suddenly there was no ground; the earth dipped down into a steep drop, and she was thrust forward and down so hard, she saw stars and gasped for air. She tumbled, head over feet, over and over until she slammed into the ground at the bottom. Everything hurt. She needed to get up and keep moving, but everything hurt. She heard the figure laugh from up above, and the sound sent tendrils of dread down her spine. She couldn't stay there.

As she forced herself up against the protest of her injuries, she saw two paths in front of her. One was sun-lit; the breeze gently moved autumn-colored leaves along the dirt. Looking into its depths filled her with love and familiarity, but it also hinted at a struggle she wasn't sure she could face. The other path was dark—almost no light made it through the trees even though they were stripped of their leaves. The barren branches were gnarled, and they reached across the path to the eerie trees on the other side. She felt a familiar fear as she looked down that path. But with the fear, there were whispers of great power, promises of freedom from all of her struggles. But there were lies, too, and she wasn't sure if she could pick them apart from the truth. 

She had to choose a path to get away from the figure, but she froze, unsure which one to take. The insidious laugh sounded from directly behind her, and she turned to see a sickening pair of familiar, blue eyes. She tried to cry out, but no sound came from her. He grabbed her then and—

---

She woke from the nightmare with a racing heart and tears in her eyes. She sat up from where she had been sleeping against Kynareth, and she struggled to catch her breath. It had felt so real, but then it always did. She drew in quiet, shuddering breaths for a few more moments before she suddenly felt too hot. She jumped up and sprinted outside into the snow. Simmik sank back on her haunches and continued to pant. Flashes of the dream played in front of her eyes, not matter how tightly she closed them. Mostly she saw his eyes; they were burned into her vision whether her eyes were open or closed, and they made her feel weak and trapped. She was so tired of feeling that way. 

The more time she spent with Ky, the less she felt like that. His love made her feel strong, and being here made it easier to try and forget her past. She never fully forgot it, though; its claws were in her mind and it clung there and reminded her of how pathetic she was whenever it got the chance. But lately, she had thought of it a little less during her waking hours. The nightmares came almost every night, but she at least got some relief during the day. And Ky had stayed true to his word: as long as she didn't try to escape, he had treated her well—better than well, really. It made her chest swell with her own love as confusing as it still was. She saw her power in his love—the power to sway his decisions in her favor. She was starting to believe his promise that he would do anything for her; it was just the exceptions that held her back from giving into him completely. At the end of the day, she was still his captive. 

Breathing became a little easier, but she still panted as though she had just run a mile without stopping. The snow felt good against her flaming skin, and she tried to concentrate on that and not the monster in her nightmare.