Fox's Glade Give my gun away when it's loaded

The conversation with Myrren had left her shaken to the core. 

All this time she had thought Kavik had merely fallen for someone else, someone better. When she pictured what their life might be like the healer had always imagined that Kavik was happy, in love with this mysterious woman. That he was content amongst the Creek wolves, leading them, and had simply moved on from her. 

In truth, he was standing by his mistake. Alessia needed someone to provide as would her children when they were born. 

For a moment, she can almost see them - a dark, tall son. A spitting image of his father. A crimson-eyed girl, a sharp little thing as lovely as her mother.

The thought of these children - these children that should have been hers, that should have been theirs - brings her to her knees. 

Hatred pulsed through her, mingling with the remainder of the love she felt for him. 

If his sense of duty was so strong, why the hell couldn't he do right by her in the first place? Why did he have to ruin all three of their lives, possibly even his unborn children's?

"I hope it was worth a quick fuck," she murmured bitterly, unable or unwilling to rise from the ground. 

When certain that her heat had come to an end, Durnehviir made a quiet departure. The tension that hung over and surrounded Swiftcurrent's wolves was suffocating - enough to drive the dragoness from the home she'd longed to return to and into the wilds that tempted her with a sense of freedom, if only for a little while.

She'd stayed close to Constantine throughout the cycle and while she basked in his attention, she took note of how he seemed to hold her at a distance. Durnehviir often wondered if his thoughts might be of Aria instead, if he intended to sire a litter by her when her own time came, and the longer she dwelled the more bitter she felt.

She knew her mistrust of Constantine's pale companion was without evidence, that the feeling was roused purely from her gut, and dwelled on the unfairness of it all. Her uncle had taught her to rely on no one but herself, to pay attention to her own heart, but she was torn between trusting her own intuition and the word of who was once her mate.

The crimson she-wolf padded through the frosted glade with no destination in mind, and the sight of a pale form drew her attention away from her own troubled thoughts. There was a fleeting moment of hope that fluttered to life in her abdomen; had Viinturuth saw sense and come home to them? It was short-lived, however, as she moved closer to discover the broken wolf's pelt to be void of her son's silver mane.

"Hey," Durnehviir greeted gently, offering a soft sweep of her tail to indicate that her approach was a friendly one.

She might have lain there a while longer, let the bitterness and the anger that burned beneath her skin like an untamed fire consume her, but her spiral into agony was interrupted by the approach of the dragoness. 

Liri pushed herself to her paws, unwilling to lie prostrate before this regal, beautiful woman. Her dark gaze flickered over the familiar flame, recognizing her from the summer before. They'd encountered the fiery Alphess on their way to the plateau so long ago. 

"Hey, " she rasped in return, noting that the stranger too looked troubled. 

Durnehviir did not recognise this wolfess as the female who'd taken shelter with her companions in the woods just beyond her beloved Swiftcurrent some months before. Their encounter had been a brief one and she had barely even thought of Liri's wandering band since that day purely because they'd brought no harm to the Creek. No, this was not the vibrant young she-wolf beginning her journey toward a new beginning and instead, she saw a shell of a woman who was entirely unknown to her.

A soft greeting came in return, and she found herself wondering what trouble must have reduced her to such clear sorrow. "Are you alright?" Durnehviir asked gently, pricking a ginger lobe. 

Liri's ears twitched back a bit, embarrassed that her grief was so plainly worn on her metaphorical sleeve. Yet, she could not hide the pain Kavik had inflicted - it felt as if it were crushing her, a python constricting tight coils around her body. 

"To be honest, no, " the healer answered softly, lips twitching in an attempt at a small smile that fell short. 

"But it concerns a member of your pack, " she continued after a moment, for the smell of Kavik's new home was still ever potent upon the flame's skin. "I would not want to make you uncomfortable by gossiping about your comrades."