Lost Creek Hollow it's the only way for me

If there was one thing Hokulani knew for certain, it was that the universe favoured her.

How could it not? She was a truly perfect specimen: beautiful, cunning, charismatic, what was not to love? Never once had she entered a situation and not left with what she had wanted, never once had she competed with another and lost.

She would not settle to be treated as anything less than she was. She would bring hell upon those who did, ensure that they never saw another day of joy in their unfortunate existence.

But it was not cruel for her to think in such a way, nor egotistical - for it was what the universe had wished upon her.

Through the trees she wandered, the slightest of smiles on her face. She wondered what Gossamer had made of her words, if that simple interaction would have her bidding done for her.

She did not know, she did not care. Hokulani was confident that either way she would emerge victorious, for not once had a wolf crossed her who did not suffer the consequences.

It was cooler in these woods than in the surroundings territories. The ground here didn’t seem to get much sky exposure. Fine for the weather-avoidant—the shade seekers, the rain haters, the snow-scared—but not ideal for a man who liked to bask. No matter the conditions.

Winter’s Wake tsked. No, this place wouldn’t do at all.

The windchaser searched for the nearest path to free himself from this denseland, pausing when he noticed that his path would cross that of a pale wolf cloaked in fawn.

Ave!

A greeting call accompanied by the lift of his tail into an inquisitive wag. It was important to test the waters of the other’s temperament before deciding to approach.

A call sounded out, pulling her interest. Who was this stranger? Who were they to speak to her?

She spotted a man, one with quite the interesting coat. A pretty boy, she decided. Larger than she, a figure that suggested athleticism. Yes, he had pulled her interest - and now he held it.

Her own tail lifting, curling into a stance of pure confidence, she approached without hesitation. Who are you, uʻi? Her tail waves as she awaits an answer.

She has not spoken to wolves outside of Reverie's troupe in some time - this will be a treat, she decides.

She met him confidently and without concern—brazenly, some might say—but Wake was pleased. He didn’t mind a wolf as forward as himself. And this one happened to be quite easy on the eyes. She certainly had features to boast of, not to mention her eyes, blazing with a color he had only seen on the daintiest petals.

I am Winter’s Wake. As in most things, he spoke casually, under no hurry or strain to answer. What do I call you?

Hōkūlani Halu. Her response was quick, lacking the necessary hesitation. She was eager.

She resists the urge to circle the man, size him up as though he were an elk she planned to rip into and devour. No, she will be sweet. As sweet as she can be, that is.

She offers a smile, her eyes squinting ever so slightly. Where have you come from, Winter's Wake? You have a lovely coat. Her tone is gentle, admiring. Mama would be proud - she would speak of the polite young lady she had become.

Her voice was the rush of birds fleeing. The flash of a fox tail. A fast piece of music from a car speeding by.

Hōkūlani Halu, he mused, sampling her name like an hors d’oeuvre. It was certainly different from any name he had heard before, but he was starting to get used to these foreign names that came without their matronymic season.

She smiled, her eyes devouring. And Wake basked in her appreciation of him, the fires of his vanity thusly fueled. I come many moons from here. Towards the sunrise. The Four Points, if you have ever heard of such a place. He searched her face for recognition of the region. Though, I hardly compare to you, my lady.

He let his eyes trail over her nape, down her throat and legs. From where do you hail?

She had not heard of such a place. Could it perhaps be her next destination? The adventure to follow up Reverie's?

You flatter me. Her tail waved, a smile held on her pale face.

I come from Witch Island. She responded. Quite the ways away - but I lived there my whole life, until now. And she did not miss it in the slightest. There was no fun in living with her parents.

It felt good not to have someone breathing down her back.

Witch Island.

Wake believed in all sorts of things. Himself from a long line of fanatics. Although he had chosen to go his own way from them, the beliefs clung to him still, tattooed upon his skin, his thoughts, his heart and soul.

Are you a witch, then? His smile was lazy. Was he teasing her? Is it too forward of me to ask what made you leave?

A witch?

Hokulani was quick to shake her head. Of course not! She spoke in nearly a huff.

I'm here traveling with friends. She responded. It was vague, but she supposed that to be for the best. I may return when I finish, or I'll stick around. I'm not quite sure.

There was no reason to stay, but there was no reason to leave either. She was unsure, indifferent.

Her mild exasperation amused him. I did not want to assume. That begged the question then: why was it called Witch Island? Perhaps she merely wasn’t a witch. It could’ve been a role reserved for others. But the tone in which she’d dismissed the idea made him think she didn’t believe in witches at all.

Wake thought it best not to sate his curiosity with this one.

Just on an adventure, then? It was a liberating thought, though he imagined this would make her less likely to be a potential recruit. Freedom, after all, was very important to some wolves. Who are your friends? He made a gesture towards her pelt and ventured a step forward; a silent request to take in her scent more closely, as well as those of her party.

His coat had little other than his own cologne to examine, but his posture left himself open for her advance, if she were so inclined.

An adventure. Yes, that was a good way to think of it.

Other's from my pack and those affiliated with it. She responded. I was not meant to go with them really - but they don't need to know that. She mused, tail flicking upwards momentarily. Poor Reverie would get in quite a bit of trouble with her father if he found out Hokulani had followed.

But that was not something she had to worry about, surely.

She stepped forward as he did, until they were nearly neck-to-neck. Risky, and yet she did not appear bothered. Tail waving, she was quick to make herself comfortable nosing through his fur.

Her answer was vague, certainly not the names he was carefully probing for. But the unpleasant knowledge that he wouldn’t be able to place names to the scents he now gleaned from her pelt was tempered somewhat by her ready admission of being a rogue amongst her crew.

Up to a little mischief? Wake chuckled. I admire that.

His skin twitching, fur shivering as her nose mowed through his well-maintained coat. He was a wolf who enjoyed roughhousing as much as he enjoyed primping, and he was glad to be examined and admired, even in passing.

You do not fear. Neither wolf seemed to mind the innocent touching; his tail also giving a breezy wave, content with her nearness. It had been some time since feeling the warmth of another. I admire that, too.

Bright eyes lifted to settle on his. Well of course not. What is there to fear? He was of no threat to her, surely.

I hope you won't take me for some sort of troublemaker. She said, the gears in her head turning - making something new. I had to leave, you see. My father is a controlling man.

Her expression grew solemn. It was true that her father and her did not quite have the expected bond, but he was not cruel. Hokulani knew this well.

But Winter's Wake did not. She could say what she pleased, test him for a reaction, and he would not be able to accuse her of anything.

Reverie was far too busy for her. This would have to do.

“What is there to fear?”

Wake smiled warmly, closed his eyes, breathed deep in her scent.

Oh, darling. There is so, so much to fear.

But no. Not him. Not now.

“I hope you won’t take me for some sort of troublemaker.”

He blinked at her sympathetically. Of course not, he assured her, repeating her twice-used phrase. Hōkūlani went on to further explain her circumstance, and he gave her a look that said: poor girl. I see. I wish that your freedom had come more… freely.

It was a strange dance between one of lies and one of false compassion. Both of them performing as a means to an end.

Why would you ever return? She had said she might, after all was said and done. Do you not prefer your independence? Maybe he controlling father hadn’t been all that bad, or, better yet, maybe she secretly liked being controlled. The winterwolf was determined to find out either way.

She reveled in his sympathy, soaked in his words and allowed them to revitalize her. It was her lifeblood and her kryptonite all at once.

Well, I don't know. She responded, her tone careful and light - as though she was taking her time to think through her words, as though she wished to preserve the feelings of those who were not present. I have nowhere else to go.

That was the truth. Witch Island was all she had ever known.

She knew of other lands, of the island her father came from and of the many relatives he had there. But what was the purpose? She felt that her actions must carry reason.

The wolf would feed into her needs, gladly, as she would feed into his. He liked to talk and listen and be wanted and resented and needed and hated and loved. His skin flushed under pale fur, happy to hear her uncertainty. Eager to think that she might have a place in her thoughts he could fill.

May be for now, he said softly. But it will not always be so. He was not naïve enough to think he could coax her into staying with him nor gather her friends to his hearth. They had just met, after all. And he didn’t intend to offer companionship upon first meeting someone. He would need to know more about them, just as he was sure others would need to know more about him.

He looked down at her, brows creased with concern. Would a hunt bring you cheer? Or perhaps you prefer to be served a meal? Wake was nothing if not gracious.

He offered her gentle comfort, invited her to a hunt and then offered to serve her. Her inflated ego nearly swelled out of her chest. I couldn't ask you to do that. It would be selfish. Her tone was sweet, pitiful. She made herself out to be meek.

Hokulani had little experience with men, but she thought them to be simple creatures. Power-hungry, and tunnel visioned. She wanted to please him, to have the opportunity to return some day and squeeze him dry of whatever he had left to offer.

She was not a weak woman, she knew that well. But did he prefer her to be weak, or to have her overpowering him the way she wished to?

these two are gonna need to go to an enablers-anonymous meeting after this!

Then do not ask. A voice kind and soothing; the supple hands of a professional masseuse upon her shoulders, seeking to gently work out the kinks and knots of her hesitation.

Punctuated by a soft hiss: Command it.

He did not prefer weak. Not in his women. She needn’t attempt to manipulate Wake at all, for he was more than willing to act as sycophant to the fairer sex.

His dark eyes caressed her face, her crown, her fawnsoft ears.

Tell me what to do, mammam.

They have me cackling in the most evil way

He cradled her, soothed her worries and cleaned the illusion of a wound. Just as quickly, he diverted her expectations.

Yes. This she liked.

The surprise reflected in her eyes was pure, untainted, genuine. She could not help but tilt her head. Was he stupid? Or was he perfect?

For moons now Reverie had occupied a sacred place in her mind. Now Hokulani found her beginning to drift away, someone new preparing to replace her golden goose. She was young, it was only natural for these things to come and go. You're an interesting man. She couldn't help but snicker, her tail waving.

Well, go then. Catch me something. She tapped his leg with a claw, her tone teasing - a challenge.

Surprise colored her beautiful face. Her head tilt was angelic.

There she is.

The mask trickled away like cotton candy in the rain. That meek, shy façade. A saccharine cloud to coat the sourness beneath. His body shuddered at her touch, at the ease in which she commanded him. Where had the coyness gone? He didn’t care. She didn’t have to pretend around him.

Right away, he promised, his voice smoldering, slow as lava. Rest those travelworn paws. I will return to you.

He took up an easy trot, confident and unhurried, and disappeared from view.

***

He would return a while later, practically strutting, with his metaphorical hard-on taking the form of a long-bodied stoat dangling from his jaws. Over the scent of fresh prey, he could not yet tell if she had remained or not.