Bonesplinter Ravine Nod my head, don’t close my eyes
Saints Of The Dying Light

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"Every saint has a past and every sinner has a future."
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All Welcome 
Setting: Night — 23:00
Weather: 40F — Clear skies, light breeze.
Tags: @Simmik

Forward dated to December 3rd!

Kynareth dragged her down through the Firebird’s old pack lands and into the beautiful mouth of his Strath. Simmik would see the power the Saints held at the sheer size of territory they now owned. Though they didn’t patrol the bordering territories as heavily as Hideaway Strath, they still watch them with hawkish eyes. The mountains are viewable in all sides unless covered by trees and It would be made painfully obvious to the pale captive that the only way out is through the way they just came in. 

Even then, Aya’s decayed body sits pretty at the foot of their borders. Donovan’s pretty little decoration. She was pretty alive and she carries it on through death. Though the skeleton is missing the skull, thanks to Dove, it is obvious that the bones are wolf. Or at least canid. 

He doesn’t keep her in the beauty that is the their little Hideaway. No, no, that wouldn’t do. He’d take her — trap her — in the Bonesplinter Ravine. He knows of a shallower part that would be perfect to drop her in. Impossible to escape from too. At least while he gets a good night rest and he’d then come help her out. Or maybe he’d keep her there until she learned some damn manners. Either way, she’s going in for the night. 

So the moonlight bounces off his striking coat. The breeze causes his fur to rustle slightly and his tail bobs almost cutely on his hips. He goes at a slower pace. Simmik is injured, her leg specifically, and he knows he must go at her pace. 

As they enter the general area of the ravine he eyes her briefly. Looking away just as quick he smiles. “Welcome home, darling.” He says softly, though if one really wants to look into it, the words would be more mocking than welcoming.
Saints Of The Dying Light

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For a while her consciousness was tentative—she would wake partially and feel only pain everywhere. It radiated from her leg and head, meeting at her shoulders and running down her body. At some point, she felt the sensation of being dragged, but she was too groggy and disoriented to tell whether or not it was really happening, let alone try to fight back. 

When she regained full control of herself, they were on the other side of the mountains—she recognized the lands from when she and Vallkrie had been here. They had stopped moving and the memories of her fight with Kynareth had all come flooding back, making her jump up and whirl on him, but she was weak and her leg was badly injured, so she quickly fell forward with a painful grunt. From then on, she knew she was fucked. She had no choice but to follow because there was no way she could get away from him. She felt trapped and terrified, and it all swirled around inside her, slowly forming a painful knot in her stomach. She said nothing to him, even if he spoke to her. The only reaction he would have been able to elicit from her, if he cared to try, was a snarl. She was disgusted with him. He had hurt her, terrorized her with the trauma she had revealed to him in confidence, and then taken her from the one thing that meant the most to her in the whole world—her forest. The entire journey, she prayed for a bear or a cougar to jump out and tear him apart, she would gladly take the same death from the creature if meant she got to watch Kynareth suffer and die in front of her. She would not be afforded any such luck, though.

The scent of his territory was obvious as they neared the borders, and the first thing she noticed was the half-rotted carcass laying at the opening to his claim. She swallowed as the smell filled her nostrils and finally looked away. At this point, she wasn't exactly surprised to see more proof of his savagery. 

But he didn't lead them into his pack lands; he turned a continued on, and she limped helplessly behind him. It was clear that no one would be able to help her now, not with Kynareth with her and not while she was so injured. She would be forced to remain at his mercy for at least as long as she healed. But once she was more able, she would begin planning her escape. No way would she let this motherfucker win. 

Where he took her was an awful place, barren and morbid. She was instantly afraid for the reason he had brought her here. Surely he wouldn't go through all of this just to kill her in this place of death. His taunting words pulled her fiery, hate-filled gaze from a pile of bones she had been staring at. Her first response was going to be something along the lines of fuck you, but she had a feeling he would turn that around on her and make her regret saying it. She still didn't trust him not to force himself on her after what he had said when they were fighting, and she didn't want to give him any reason to consider it more. So instead of saying anything, she just released a slow, vicious growl that said everything she couldn't.
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Saints Of The Dying Light

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Kynareth’s mind isn’t as jumbled and pissed as he had been. Now with Simmik at his side he really more depressed now than anything. He’s had a lot of time to think on the way over here. He finds himself regretting his decision to nab the beta of Neverwinter. For if she escapes, it’d be hell on wheels for his pack. He doesn’t care about himself. They could chase after him for eternity, but his pack? Yeah, that’s a bit different. Though when he really thinks about it, these surrounding packs are so weak they’d probably let the rest of his pack go and hunt him down only. Not him. If he were then he’d kill the entirety of the pack just as he’s done many times before.

Still, as his mind goes every which way, he still finds himself teasing the poor woman as they enter the territory of the ravine. Dead grass and too many rocks make up the territory, with some trees too, but they don’t do much to liven up the scenery. So he head closer north of the ravine. It’s much, much shallower up there. 

Then finally he comes to the place he’s had in mind all along. A shallow pit, devoid of heavy water flow on the north end of the Bonesplinter — perfect. It’s a fair drop. One of about ten to fifteen feet. It would take at least two wolves to get Simmik out whenever he need to, which isn’t a problem to him, he has Nyra. The edges are jagged and some are gravelly, making for a near impossible escape. The total surface area of the pit looks to by comfortable enough, of around fifteen by twenty five feet. A small stream flows from the top of the mountain, into the pit, and down further into the ravine. Even better.

So after he’s done inspecting it he hums with a satisfied nod of a thick head. Turning to Simmik he smiles. “Alright. Jump in, dear.” He says as if it’s a joke. “Or I’ll throw you in myself.” Then his face makes it very clear that it is indeed not a joke.
Saints Of The Dying Light

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This was not her Donovan. This was not the man who had played with her and taught her how to fight. This monster was Kynareth; there was a clear distinction now. Her Donovan wouldn't have put his teeth in her flesh or held such a terrible moment over her as way to get her to do what he wanted, and he wouldn't be looking at a cold, empty pit and expecting her to get inside. Where had he gone? Her heart broke again, and she wondered how many times it would start to heal just to be broken again by this awful man. She had looked at him once and seen his potential, but now all she saw was a monster. 

She looked down into the ravine with tears starting to form. Stupid traitor tears. She swallowed and straightened up, lifting her chin as she glared at him. She wasn't going to get inside. If he wanted her in there, she would make him throw her in like the demon he was. Still, she was desperate, and she tried to play on whatever might be left of her Donovan. Why are you doing this? she whispered. This is me...Simmik. She took a step back and swallowed again, losing the battle with her tears as one slid down her cheek. I know you don't want to hurt me. She searched his face for any wavering or any flicker of the emotion she used to see there.
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Saints Of The Dying Light

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Somehow Donovan knew she wasn’t going to get in all willy nilly. He sighs mentally, he’s about to have to do this the hard way and he’s already exhausted from the journey home. Though he does watch her much too closely. Her pumpkin colored orbs eyeing the pit. Her eyes are quickly becoming wet with soon to fall tears and, again, he finds himself regretting what he’s done. He can’t take it back and he can’t let her go now. It’s too late. So as she turns towards him and lifts her chin he awaits for her to say something.

Why are you doing this? She whispers, obviously hurt by the recent turn of events. Then at her next words and the tell tale streak of a year falling down her beautiful face his golden orbs hold pain in them — sympathy and regret. He has a light frown on his handsome maw as she asks her questions and states that he doesn’t want to hurt her. She’s right and wrong. He wants to hurt her because he’s livid. He doesn’t want to hurt her because of the fact that she is in fact Simmik.

The way he used to be with her back then is still there. No matter how many wolves associate Donovan and Kynareth as two completely different beings. He just played the game back then. He’s still playing the game now. Not with Simmik, but with everyone else. He would’ve ruled these lands if it were up to him. If he had the pack he had back then. He doesn’t, so he has to be much more careful, has to play the game — be a good boy. The evil has always been inside him, he just didn’t have the need to have Simmik see it. 

So he sighs and lowers his haunches into a sit. “Simmik, I don’t want to hurt you. I was pissed off. It’s not an excuse so don’t even go down that road with me. It’s too late though, I already have.” He looks her dead in her eyes. “Now, I can’t let you go. You’d have my pack killed. My plans foiled. I don’t care if you have everyone in the Wilds hunt me down, but I don’t want my pack paying for it.” He gazes up to the moon, unable to look at Simmik’s heartbroken face any longer. “You’re staying here with me. You’re going to join me. Prosper with me and become a part of my pack.” He looks back to her. “I’ll get you to stay here willingly. Or I’ll kill you trying. Can’t risk you getting out and fucking me over. ‘Cause no matter what you say now, I know you’ll do it if you escape or leave.”
Saints Of The Dying Light

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She seemed to have reached something within him. She could tell by the pain and regret in his gaze when he looked at her. But there was determination there too. This wouldn't be black and white, but then nothing ever had been with him. 

He was mad and he didn't want to hurt her. But he also knew her well, and he was correct: if she somehow managed to get away from here, she would bring war to his doorstep. Regardless of what had gone on between them, or her love for him, he had gone too far this time. He had stolen her from her pack and her life, and now he was set on forcing her to live here with him. Well, things just didn't work that way. He could have her here and still be a monster. She didn't sit, even though she was exhausted and everything hurt. She still didn't trust him and was ready to bolt at the first chance, no matter how futile it was. 

You can't force me to be okay with what you do here, she said quietly. We could have ruled together. I would have joined you, but you chose this life, and I don't fit here. more tears fell and she shuffled on her three, non-injured legs, trying to ignore the urge to pass out. Just let me go, she pleaded. You don't have to do this.
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Saints Of The Dying Light

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He watches her shuffle awkwardly on her three legs. Again, he feels bad. He wants to offer her to sit, get comfortable while they talk, but he knows she’d probably just tell him to fuck off or what not. So he decides not to say anything about it. 

Rather he sighs outwardly this time. “I know I can’t force you to be okay with the shit I do.” He stands now, it’s a sudden motion and it would probably frighten her, but he doesn’t move from his spot. He does squint his eyes incredulously at her a light sneer on his maw. “How fucking stupid do you think I am to just let you go?” Then he stops, comically so, his face turns into a smile and he’s eyeing her down with humor is his gaze. “Don’t answer that actually. ‘Cause even I realize how bad I’ve fucked up. If I can’t win you over, I’m literally going to have to kill you.” All humor has left the studio. He’s deathly serious now. “I’m not going to let you go. Now if I knew you wouldn’t fuck me over ten times to Sunday I might even consider it. But I know you and you’d do just that. Fuck me over.”

“So dear, you’re going to learn to like it here. I might even put you in a special position within my inner circle if you can prove it. After all, if you can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em. Am I right?” He hums casually. 

Yet then he’s goes thinking about how maybe they could’ve been together had he not been a literal piece of shit. Yet is that realistically possible for him? Probably not. Maybe on his death bed or when he’s an actual old ass man, but not anytime soon. Can’t give the people what they want too early. That bad guy to good guy arc just isn’t realistic for him. Maybe one day, but not anytime soon. 

Still, he looks at her. A softness in his eyes. “I would’ve loved to be with you, Simmik. You helped me through a rough time in my life when I first got here.” He references the death of his pack. Simmik was the first wolf he met and hit it off with. He’s been horribly attached ever since. He just doesn’t like to admit it. “I just hate to be with you like this.” At those just barely whispered words he dips his snout to the ground. Avoiding her watery eyes, he finds an interesting spot in the grass to look at. Anywhere but Simmik.
Saints Of The Dying Light

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His sudden movement startled her. She took a step back from the ravine, her ears flattening as she watched his every move. He stayed where he was, but she still remained on alert.

She was beginning to realize that no matter what she said, he was not going to let her go. He knew how much of a mistake it was to take her, and now he was going to make it work for him, regardless of what she wanted. So when he said he would kill her if he couldn't force her to join him, she knew he meant it. Still she couldn't help but try and pull Donovan out. You would actually kill me? she asked. 

He made no sense. One minute he was kidnapping her, threatening to kill her, treating her like shit. And the other, he was reminiscing about how things had been between them. It was as if he were two different wolves. But she didn't feel bad for him anymore. Not after this. So when he looked away, she got brave and tried to bolt. She pushed through the pain and took off the way she had been led here. Tears streamed down her cheeks as she tried to push herself to go faster, but she didn't dare look back because she knew he would be there, closing in on her. She was too slow, he had made sure of that.
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Saints Of The Dying Light

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The thought of trying to pull out Donovan’s nice side would’ve worked. Not enough to make him let her go, but it would’ve worked a bit it it meant anything. Yet, as he’s about to answer her cautious question she fucking bolts. 

He doesn’t even move. He’s a little bit shocked at first. He shows this with raised brows, but as he’s watching her injured form run off haphazardly he smiles sickly. Okay. He’s fucking exhausted. He’s been trying to be in a good mood for her. He hasn’t slept in four fucking days because he was too scared to sleep thinking Simmik was going to escape on the way back to the Strath. 

So as he watches her run he’s sighs. Rolling his shoulders and closing his eyes momentarily. His smile disappears. He’d give her a head start. He’s slow, but for once she’s slower than him. Eyes still closed he mutters out quiet words. “One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six.” She has to be a fair distance away by now. “Seven. Eight. Nine.” His hawkish eyes open eerily — maliciously. Already fixated on his target, he gets in the ready position, eager to run. A horrid grin appears then. “Ten.” He whispers finally and he’s kicking up grass sprinting towards her.

It doesn’t take too horribly long for him to catch up, but surely Simmik’s heart beats faster and faster. There’s no way she can’t see him gaining on her. Especially as he’s shaving the distance so quickly. 

Now, he’s a fair few meters behind her when he yells to her. “Come on, Simmik. Now you’re the fucking stupid one. I even gave you a head start!” He closes the distance a bit more. He could catch her but he slows down. “Better go faster before I fucking catch you!” He plays horribly.
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Her entire being protested her escape. Her mind knew it was pointless and likely to make things worse. Her heart knew it would only kill her spirit that much more when he caught her. Her body knew she didn't have the stamina to get far enough away to make a difference. But her pride reused to let her give up. She would not be stuck here. This was not happening to her. 

She limped more and more, and her heart felt like it might explode. She heard him yelling at her, toying with her—Kynareth. He could have ended this already, she knew, but he was fucking with her like the monster that he was. She didn't care, though, she kept running, pushing, hoping. 

But her injured leg had finally had enough. It buckled beneath her as she pushed herself, and she stumbled forward, face-planting in the rock and skidding forward. She was so tired. Tired and finally defeated. So she just laid there and cried, waiting, and slowly exiting her mind so that she could somehow deal with how hopeless this all was.
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Saints Of The Dying Light

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He can see her gait getting worse. She’s hurting, he knows she’s in pain and it pains him. It’s like watching someone kick a puppy. He wants to stop it, but then he realizes it’s him kicking the puppy. Never mind that he doesn’t really like puppies, it’s the thought that counts. 

Then she falls. It’s a hard fall too, skidding across rocks and dead grass. He almost winces for her, but he finds himself slowing into a trot, then a dead stop right next to her. Well, a few feet away from her. He just stares down at her for a few seconds. He’s reduced such a strong woman to this. It sickens him. He’s truly disgusting, but he’s too deep in it now. He’s got to keep rolling with the punches. He can’t let her go. He just can’t.

Finally he speaks though. A rough, but strong, “Get up.” A few seconds pause. “I thought you were stronger than this Simmik. Now. Get. Up.” He says quietly, but a silent growl in his voice. An order, a demand. He can’t stand seeing her so sad and weak.
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What was wrong with him. He got what he wanted—she was done fighting him. He could pick her up and throw her in the pit, and she would do nothing because she had no energy to fight him. 

His order made her blood boil, though. He dealt the words like he was her leader and had the fucking right to order her around. Her jaw tightened and she shifted to look up at him with hate in her eyes. Why? So you can feel better about hurting someone who only ever wanted to love you? He had done it time and time again, and now that she was all but broken before him, he wanted her to be strong again. 

She slowly peeled herself from the ground and into a sitting position, her head hanging below her shoulders. We both know I won't go into the ravine on my own, she said, quiet and defeated. So just get it over with and stop fucking with me.
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Saints Of The Dying Light

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Her breathing seemed to have slowed a bit and she’s catching her breath now. It doesn’t stop her from looking up to him with pure, unadulterated hatred in her beautiful eyes. The eyes he remembers looking at him with such care, want, lust. Then she’s speaking and it takes him a second to understand what the fuck she just said. He would visibly freeze as she got up into her seated position mentioning how he should just get it over with and throw her in the pit.

Finally he looks away. An obvious contemplative frown on his maw. Cream brows knitted together and yellow eyes averted. He would get up and walk a few paces towards the ravine, facing his back to her. But before he went, Simmik would definitely be able to see a certain type of hurt in his eyes. A deep one. One that he keeps hidden. 

“Let’s go.” He says softly. 

Emotion swirls in his voice and he realizes something. Her words echoing in his head. There’s only one reason he hasn’t stopped thinking about her for months. Why he hates seeing her like this. Why he hates hurting her emotionally or physically, but he keeps doing it. She gave him so many chances and boy did he fuck it up. Well, he’s fucked it up royally now. Right when he realizes that, yeah, he loves her. It hurts. He hates this feeling. Trying to think of anything but this. Trying to remember things his father has told him about these types of situations. He’s got to hard up. But how?

He doesn’t have the energy to contemplate this shit tonight. Or maybe he doesn’t want to. He’s about to fall asleep standing up. So he repeats the words a bit louder just in case she didn’t hear him the first time.

This time, the “Let’s go.” Comes out just as soft, but with a little less emotion. He starts walking. Expecting her to follow.
Saints Of The Dying Light

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She saw the pain in his eyes, and there was a time when that would have made her heart ache. But now all she felt was numb. Whatever he felt about her, whatever hurt he felt over what he had done, she didn't care. What he had done was unforgivable. And now she had no strength to try and change him or try and fight whatever he wanted her to do. 

She stayed where she was even when he turned his back on her, too broken to try and run again. Let's go, he told her. The words were soft and confusing—like he was saying something completely different with them. But he hadn't; he was asking her to get inside a horrible pit and spend the night there like the prisoner she now was. When he asked again, she stood and limped forward, her gaze glued to the ground in front of her. 

When they got to the ravine, she would merely look down inside with an empty expression and wait for him to do what he always did—hurt her.
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Saints Of The Dying Light

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He’s too happy she doesn’t say anything else. Truly. He might cry. He might go bash his head on a tree. Whichever comes first. So when they finally get there, he looks over to Simmik. Does he throw her in? He really doesn’t want to even touch her right now due to her obviously fragile mental and physical health. 

Should he ask her to get in again? God. He doesn’t know. Leigh is right. It really is so much easier being the bad guy. Yet, it’s also so much harder at the same time. 

This is his queue. He’s gotta be the bad guy. 

So he steps over to her, depending on how she reacts, which he expects fighting, he’d grab her by the scruff. The drag to the edge would be short and he’d lower his head as far as he could go before dropping her into the pit.
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She didn't fight him. She went limp on his hold. She was too tired and all she wanted was to curl in a ball and try and forget the hell she was in. The only reaction he would get would be a wince as he grabbed the flesh of her scruff and pulled against her sore wounds. 

When he let go, she slid down the side of the pit and hit the ground with a soft thud. Immediately, she found a dark corner and curled up inside the shadows.
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She goes in without a fight and he feels bad. He can’t help but feel bad. So he’d stay there and suffer with her. If he were able to get out easily he’d go down into the pit himself. Maybe try and cuddle a little bit. Even though he’d get nothing but snarling teeth. 

Still as he watches her move into a lonely corner he sighs. Moving to a grassy edge of the pit and flop down lazily. The tips of his paws hang just the slightest bit off into the air and he rests a furry chin on them. His usually harsh golden orbs are soft right now and they don’t leave Simmik for a good while before he finally looks away and falls into a fitful sleep.