Hideaway Strath Tore my shirt to stop you bleedin'

Thought I’d put a little snippet of dream sequence too cause fuck it. ٩( ᐛ )و

Kynareth is unaware of the monster chasing Simmik in her dreams. For his own mind supplies him of his own. Though not necessarily a monster, but perhaps a memory of his own. Images of his father come to mind; a large pitch black male with striking yellow eyes. Nothing but a stump of a tail he had — got it ripped off in a fight is what he told him and Kyn can definitely believe it. He remembers times when he was around two and a half, he and his father would storm packs, hunt down those who wronged the Saints. 

Then comes the fond images of his mother. A medium sized woman of a firm build. Pure Akita; thick, dense coat of brindle and a curled tail. She had once fought alongside his father as well. Though in one fateful battle she decided she would fight no more. 

It was half the Saints, Kynareth, his mother, and Father. They had a bone to pick with a rather close neighbor who planned to jump ship and move once they heard what had happened. So, a common thing the Saints would do is wipe out the pack entirely if the reward seemed to outweigh the losses. His father requested a fair alpha versus alpha battle — a one on one so to speak. Accepting such a request they began to fight — his father won in a fit of flying teeth and blood, killing their alpha. They were shocked and predictably hurt by the loss. Yet, even at the fair request and just win, they attacked. 

His mother and father were the first to get jumped, large numbers of the Saints moving with lightening speed to defend them, Kynareth included. Knowing his father was already closer to death than the rest of them, he moves to help him. Yet, they were too late to get to his mother. There was blood everywhere, they’d ripped off an ear, then most shockingly a leg. Her front left one to be exact. Kynareth’s saw it rip with the amount of wild teeth that gripped it. He went into a blind rage and it’s at this point he’s been stirred from his fitful slumber. 

It happens quickly, the memory of his mother getting ripped limb of limb fading and being replaced by the blurry image of Simmik’s white fur. He isn’t quick enough to comprehend what is happening until she’s darting out of the den. He’s shifting quickly to look and is able to see her stop just outside, sighing in relief that he doesn’t have to chase her. Her form moves and quakes with heavy breathes and he instantly knows there’s something wrong.

Standing and only stretching briefly, his heavy paws thump as he moves beside her. He’s silent as he sits down, large head turning to face her in a silent inquiry. Until he’s not really silent anymore. 

“Bad dream?” He asks simply. “Don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to, dear.” Is his offer for a way out just in case she feels trapped. Besides that, he stays silent, looking away and to the wilderness around them until she offers an answer.