Duck Lake hollow ashes

Ever since her run-in with the Indra look-alike Laurel hadn't been the same. She had grown to seem indifferent about life in the recent months, ever since Indra had passed away. Charles' departure went unnoticed at first, and then once she realised he was gone it infuriated her that he would leave without saying a word, just like his siblings. Did none of them care about their mother? She thought of what she would do to him if she would see him again. She wished that she had had a child and that that child had been Indra's reincarnation, rather than the nasty child that had run away from her in the field. How could she ever get close enough? She couldn't, she'd lost her sister again. The only thing she could think to do was —

get pregnant —

murder the child on the day of the conception —

— wish and hope that one of her children would be Indra's new incarnation.

But how could she simply murder Indra, even if she didn't know that she was Indra? The thought was absurd, even before considering this was a child who couldn't help being Indra's vessel. But at the same time, she was.

She is.

And maybe her idea wasn't so crazy.

Maybe your idea isn't so crazy.

And for the first time, she agreed with the snarling voice in her head just a little bit.

But she was alone, and since the pup did not belong to Easthollow, she feared of what that might mean as she thought of her nasty nephew. How could she ever get such a thing done? Not alone.

She thought of Xan as she walked up to the lake and lapped at the water. Would he help her? She considered travelling and seeking out the help of others, but what did she have to offer? Except your luscious body — Except what she didn't want to give to begin with? Why would anyone help her?

She didn't want to be broken anymore, even though she had little fate that she could ever be truly un-broken. She didn't want to be empty anymore, though she wasn't sure she could ever be fulfilled. The cracks were simply too deep, the seams too harshly torn apart by all that had transpired.

Laurel frowned into the lake as clouds overhead predicted more rain. But for now, it was dry.

He did not make his way back to the forest. It was much too soon for that. Give him a day or two to empty his mind, then he could return.

For now he’d continue forward. Cenric found himself in the valley he’d visited briefly. It was still wet from the month-long storm, but at least he didn’t have trudge through mud.

The Deorwine walked along the lake’s bank. The path led to a woman who hovered over the water. Admiring your reflection? he called, Or is there something on your mind?

So consumed by thoughts had she been that she didn't even notice the other wolf until he spoke. Laurel visibly startled and her tail tucked between her hind legs in defensive response for a moment. Then she quickly pulled it up and over her back, her posture going from neutral through submissive to dominant in a matter of seconds.

Aware that the second of submission betrayed her fear but unwilling to show, Laurel said, her voice sharp: I was just having a drink. What are you doing here, apart from sneaking up on drinking women? Her eyes were filled with distrust -- he was tall, dark and his eyes held a sharpness that she distrusted, that reminded her of him -- me, dearest, say my name! he spat -- and all her muscles were tense, ready to flee if she must.

She goes through an array of emotions. First there was shock, and perhaps that bred fear. He’d have no way of knowing. She hid behind a defensive mask.

And as she morphs from one emotion to the next, he was still.

Taking a walk. A great way to clear the mind. That’s what he told Clarence.

My apologies. I didn’t mean to startle you. Perhaps that would put the woman at ease. I am Cenric Deorwine.

Maybe it was just in her head, but he seemed to relax somewhat and it made her feel slightly less on edge. Still, her muscles remained tense as she was ready to flee if she would need to. She was no fool; experience had taught her -- I have taught you, dearest -- that she could trust no one, no matter how friendly they seemed. At least he didn't offer her any food, like he had.

Taking a walk. That seemed harmless enough. Laurel thought back to when she had first met the dark coywolf, when she had been splashing around in the water and said it was fun when he didn't understand. Now she was the one who didn't seem to understand the concept of fun. How ironic.

He remained polite, though she remembered vividly how the coywolf had been polite before he had shown the darker side of his face. She wasn't convinced, remained tense, though her tail curled back down to stay at ease -- but her hackles remained raised to betray her fear.

He didn't mean to startle her. Well, you failed at that, didn't you? Laurel said, her voice snappy. She'd never been polite before, though she had been more open to others and a lot more playful before all of this happened. Now only the snappy part of her was left, with the fun part nowhere to be found. He introduced himself. I'm Laurel. She didn't sound like she cared to give her name, as though it was just a thing for her to fling around and not anything that had value to her. Where do you live? Hopefully he lived in a pack.

She seemed more relaxed than she had before, but there were some parts of her that remained tense. Her hackles, for one, never fell. Her voice was still sharp. Suppose I did. Perhaps she acted this way simply because they were strangers. There’s nothing he could do about that but remain civil.

Cenric took quick note of her name before answering the question. My family and I are staying in a forest down south for the time being, though I doubt we’ll be there for much longer. Their god didn’t live in those woods. May I ask the same question?

The man remained kind so far, which made Laurel a little less wary. She remembered that Iliksis had been kind -- and yet you treated me like shit, you bitch! -- but when she had told him to fuck off he had turned around quickly. To see that in the face of her rudeness this stranger remained calm made her feel the tiniest bit better, at least. She remained tense, because if there was anything she'd learned in life it was that every wolf was different and no wolf -- especially not men -- was to be trusted, though looked less as if she was about to flee at any given moment.

Are you travelling in search of a pack? she asked him, though her voice didn't hold a lot of curiosity. It was almost as if she felt that she needed to ask a question like that to make small talk rather than that she was genuinely interested. His question surprised her, and she hesitated visibly for a moment whether she would tell.

Eventually, she said, I'm — A stilted choked up second silence while she heard him say A filthy murderous whore. in her head. — From Easthollow. It's down that way. She pointed in the direction of Easthollow, and contemplated whether to offer a place to stay, should they need it. In the end she decided against it.

Her tone was flat, uninterested, but he’d answer anyway.  Yes. We’re still trying to find an adequate place to settle. Home is where the elk grazes. Their god would never dine in a forest of ghosts.

Cenric’s question caused her to hesitate, and for a moment he believed he asked too much. Much to his surprise, she answered anyways, and even pointed in the direction of her home.

Easthollow, he repeated, Haven’t heard of that one before. He hadn’t done any research on the packs in the valley. Maybe he’d come back and do so one day. Cenric was a curious man.

Sounds like a pleasant place to stay. The name made it sound like a happy home secluded from the rest of the world.

He shared that they were still looking for a place to settle. Laurel again considered that maybe she should offer that Easthollow may have place, but in the end she decided against it. Why would she help this stranger, after all? And maybe they didn't even look for a pack to live in. It was none of her business, and poking into other wolves' business was rarely a good idea.

He said that Easthollow sounded like a pleasant place to live in. Why? Laurel blatantly asked in response to that question, a challenging look on her face. He didn't know anything about it at all. What did a name like that mean to anyone, and why did that make him think that it was nice?

There’s something about the name, he hummed, It sounds warm and inviting. There’s more to a name that meets the eye. Cenric acknowledged the feelings they gave him when they weren’t subconscious.

A brow raised. Am I wrong?

Easthollow's name wasn't warm and inviting to Laurel very much. On one side it was, as it was a home in some ways, but in many other ways it was just a house that she stayed in until... until they kicked her out, or until she decided to set off again on her own. If Indra'd still been here, she would probably not even be a part of Easthollow anymore. They would've left Charles, rather than the other way around, and they would've set out on their own.

Is he wrong? echoed the dark man's voice in her head, and it caused Laurel to snap out of her thoughts and look up. Suppose not, she said with a hint of nervousness. It's... a place to live. She wished that she could summon old Laurel back, that she could pretend to woo this man so that she might build up a positive relation somewhere else, so that she wasn't bound to Easthollow if not only by the fact that she had nowhere else to go, no one else to turn to. But you can't, can you, dearest. But she couldn't. Because I broke you. And mind you, you weren't even charming. She wasn't even charming. But you did accept my gifts. She did accept the free food. So really, it's all mostly your own fault, dearest. He was right about that, and that was why she could no longer force herself into that role, why she could not build up any positivity with anyone else ever again, because she was —

A f r a i d . . .

I should go, said Laurel hastily, while her eyes turned wet with raw emotion and pure fear of what this man might do to her if she stuck around. She looked up at him briefly, making eye contact for all but a few seconds. She hoped she would see him again -- a fleeting thought that Iliksis' voice inside her head laughed at heartily and madly -- and she wasn't sure why. Maybe because this meeting represented so much of her old life, so much of what she'd lost. I... You want him, don't you? No! Laurel looked caught off-guard, as if she realised that she had said too much. She shouldn't talk back to Iliksis, she should never talk back to Iliksis. For more reason than one.

Laurel grimaced as the initial shock faded from her face and she said: I'm so sorry. Her legs were trembling and she wanted to make to leave, like she had said she should, but somehow her legs were completely rooted to the ground and she couldn't leave. Laurel just stared at him with a mysterious air of too many emotions piled on top of one another, making it impossible to tell which it was that she was actually feeling.

Her anxiety gradually grows as the conversation went on. The water was warm at first, then it bubbles, and now it’s spilling from the pot.

Whatever control she had before was slipping from her paws. She declared her departure hastily, yet she stayed rooted to the spot. Like prey, he thought.

Then she calls out. It certainly wasn’t directed towards him; he’d yet to do anything to warrant it. Yet he took a step back. The ill do wild things.

Just as soon as the outburst started, it ends. The fear, however, was still present. Her legs still trembled beneath her.

What are you afraid of? the Déorwine asked in an even tone. It was not out of concern, but curiosity.

He seemed to disregard her strange behaviour -- that's because I'm real, dearest. -- and cut right to the point, asking her why she was acting so strange. Laurel suddenly found it hard to breathe. What would she even respond? There was no logical explanation, other than that she was insane or something. And she certainly was not going to tell this man the terrible things that the coywolf had done to her, after she thought he was no more than just... someone.

I said sorry. Go find yourself another freak show if you want to hear a story to amuse you, Laurel snarled at the man. He'd been nothing but kind to her, but she wasn't planning to lay down everything that had gone wrong in her life -- the list was too long, anyway -- just because he was being courteous. He was clearly beyond that now, asking her personal questions that he had no right to know. She wasn't about to tell him what she was afraid of. You've never told anyone, have you, dearest? Indra was the only one who knew why she had become this way and the secret was buried deep under the ground with her sister's death. Laurel would be damned if she ever let anyone know what that man had done to her, because it meant admitting to herself that she was not invulnerable.

She stared the stranger in the eye, daring him to come closer, while she contemplated dashing off. For now, though, she stayed.

There was a line drawn in the sand, and Cenric had stepped over it. Her fear had morphed into aggression, and she snapped at him. The King was one wrong move from losing his fur. That’s a risk he wasn’t willing to take.

Farewell Laurel. He slowly turned his back on her and began to walk away.

He turned around and walked away, which further bolstered Laurel's confidence. Yeah, walk away, she thought to herself, and she kept her teeth exposed as he left. They were all the same, men; they were on your side until suddenly it was inconvenient and they weren't anymore and they tried to take what they could from you. He was no different than any of them.

She turned around with a haughty lift of her snout and strutted away, back in the direction of Easthollow.