The wind was beating against the trees and making a terrible sound. It was like the branches were whipping back against their own trunks, tangling with one another or with the reaching arms of adjacent growth; she heard it as she ran headlong in to the foliage. Save for the wind, the area around her was silent. It was still. Precious moments slid by and Lisette felt her heart grow heavy in her chest; it constricted with the spasm of her sore muscles, with the spasmodic release of the carbon dioxide that had nested for too long within her lungs. Her tongue slipped out from between her lips, hanging, dragging in the wind. She refused to stop even though these aches became apparent - pushing herself further beyond her own limits as she fled.


It had been days since she had seen them. The trio had been caring for her for weeks prior, and it seemed only necessary to have them tag along on her trip back home; the news of her parent's attack had sparked her in to action, but Lisette, poor Lisette - she had not been prepared for what happened. The memory of their snapping teeth and their laughter, as they drove her away from the outskirts of her own home, rang as clearly as the scratching of the tree branches. The thought of the three guards made her skin crawl, her pulse boil with frustration, and her body to reach further in to her dwindling energy reserves. By the time Lisette stopped, with those trees cackling above her head, it had been four days. Four hard days of running, three of which with the strange men practically snapping at her tail; she had barely outmaneuvered them at this point, and was still quite flighty in her mannerisms.


With a great gulp of air, she did not wait any longer. The red wolf turned and began to charge through the trees once more, slinking along with a fluid grace punctuated by the bitter sense of loss. She would never go home. She couldn't - her parents were probably dead, and her husband was in charge now. There was no place for her there. It was time to start over; as bitter as that was to swallow, Lisette would have to accept this as fact and carry on. The verisimilitude of her survival would count on the next few days, and wasting time on the past was something she could not afford.

There were days when the loneliness felt like a compressing weight, as if the shadows (though he had never feared the dark even as a small child) were clawing and tearing at him. Whispering malicious things in his ears, reminding him of who he was and what he would have done. He had loved Olympia (as much as Nanook was capable of loving anyone), of course he had, she was his littermate and his “little” sister. Simply, she had crossed him in the wrong way, her betrayal felt like a sting, even still upon his heart. He had long since established that he was the dominate pup. As a child when they play fought, he always got a little too rough, teeth breaking skin when he bit (as opposed to the childish nips she would give him), asserting himself as her superior even though she was always taller than him. Size did not matter to him. He was no more intimidated by a large wolf than he was by a small one. Nanook did not like having his authority challenged, not because he was afraid of challenges, rather he enjoyed having his skills tested; but Olympia was different. She was his subordinate, and still his sibling. Her conspiracy with the other “children” had been like a slap in the face, bigger still when she sold him out to their parents and the other leaders after he had attacked the male whom Olympia had followed as blindly as she had once followed him.

The red ferns that littered the floor of the forest he had distractedly, at some point, entered seemed to pool like blood, causing Nanook to freeze, willowy muscles locking and stiffening beneath silvery, smoky ivory coat. Leathery, black nostrils flared smelling only the scent of dirt and bracken, the faint woodsy and acorn smell of nearby woodland creatures as they scurried, scrapping along the branches or rustling if they were grounded. Ears slicked back to his skull, pupils blowing wide until there was but a golden halo around the black abyss’ and then narrowed, nearly swallowed by the fierce, liquid golden core of his irises. Hackles bristled along the curve of his spine, angelic face troubled by the visions of blood that haunted him. Not out of regret. No, he did not nor would he ever regret what he had done. It had been justified. To be feared was to be respected, at least, this was what he rationalized to himself, at any rate. Tough decisions had to be made, sacrifice was necessary and it wasn’t as if he had killed the other boy. Simply, crippled him, to prove a point. So why was in haunting him in this alien place where the forest floor looked like a battleground?

He did not know. Shaking his head he pushed himself forward determined not to stay in one place for too long. He just wanted to be out of this forest.
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the sheer exaustion was beginning to weigh heavily upon the woman; she would not be able to keep this speed for much longer, as her endurance was wearing thin. When she gasped for air she tasted copper - or something like it, something metallic that leeched from her lungs. it was not a flavor lisette enjoyed by any means, as it was the physical taste of her limits. the reminder that she would not be able to run forever. as she passed through the shadows there was a slim sensation of relief; perhaps caused by the darkness as it settled upon her willowy body, for it hid her figure well. it was a momentary calm, which lifted only seconds later, as her body finally buckled from the strain of her running. Lisette came upon a bandbox field of gray shadows, red ferns, and curious smells. had she been more attentive and less tired, perhaps she would have picked up on the scent of wolf in a quicker sense. however, lisette was too busy trying to regain her composure. her lungs ached fiercly, and she fought against the urge to vomit as she gulped back air in a groggy, hungry fashion. vision blurred for a moment. she felt faint, and staggered. as her shoulder came in to contact with one of the trees, lisette slid against it; she arched her spine towards it for stability, until finally her wandering limbs stopped - it was like they didn't want to stop running, regardless of her own wishes. as if they had taken on a life and cognizance of their very own.


but then she saw him. wandering out from the shadows, his nose low against the ground - telling her his size, right off, and dissuading her mind from thinking it was one of her pursuers. this boy was too young, too small. he looked more lost than even she. yet she did not go to him. It was in her nature to care, to protect, even in this instance. lisette felt a motherly urge to approach him and make sure the boy was alright, but... there was something off about him. something about the way he looked at the ferns that peppered the earth; it was a wild sort of thing, fleeting in nature, but perceptible as she watched him. as the woman's heart finally reached a calm tempo, she gathered her courage (and whatever energy she had remaining) and slunk towards him. even when tired she was poised; lifting her head and taking on a passively dominant posture. she kept a distance between them, but also chuffed, trying to catch his attention. she had no ill-will towards the boy, and so lisette hoped her purity would reach him in his odd state. "Are you alright, boy?"

• There were many firsts that were never forgotten, preserved in the mind from the cradle to the grave; and some still preserved in the recesses of the subconscious, tucked in some dark archive where it was not presently thought about yet recalled nonetheless. He could remember his first hunt, his first kill of prey, his first patrol, the first meeting. Despite how he tried to pretend that his past did not exist, that Sparta DiSarinno did not exist -- simply that he enigmatically sprung into being from inconsequential canines -- he was finding that pretending was not the same thing as forgetting. Nanook was learning that forgetting was not nearly as easy as he had hoped and further, assumed, it would be. He remembered the day he crippled the other boy with a clarity that could be defined as crystal. The worst part was that when confronted by his parents and the other leaders, Nanook had willingly confessed wanting them to know what he was capable of. Except, it had not gone quite the way Nanook had imagined it would in his head when the call had been risen for him, and Nanook could only suspect it was because he had not regretted his choice. The sharp, sickening snap of bones beneath the power of his jaws had been satisfying, the taste of blood as he tore at flesh, it’s sharp, metallic pungent smell a crimson fuel for the fire that had blazed within him. The action had soothed the beast in him that commanded his subordinates to obey him. The line of hierarchy between that years pups had long ago since been established and if there was one thing that Nanook refused to tolerate it was being stabbed in the back. Especially by some mud-mongrel child who was born of lowly subordinates out of his parents’ generosity.
  

  With each breath of the wind, the red ferns swayed when it dipped low enough to reach them, their crimson leaves tickling against his legs, making him jerk back as if they were bloodied fingers reaching to snatch him and pull him down to Hell. Or where ever it was exiled, fallen angels like him went. Ears slicked back to his skull, head jerking left and then right to watch the wave of blood close in on him like a tsunami he could not escape from. “What is…happening to me?” Some part of Nanook’s brain knew that it was an illusion, a play on his imagination. Some rational part of Nanook knew that he was standing there in a stance that suggested he felt threatened (because he did, even though it was all in his mind) and that he likely, looked ridiculous. High, or perhaps any passerby that stumbled, unfortunately, upon him might consider the option that he was suffering from a Schizophrenic delusion. It was not either. He had not been feeling overly well the past couple of days. A sickness that had come from the hidden stress of his lonely travels and from the dramatic change in climates as he went from one region to another. A minor illness that the fever that consumed him in a burning sensation was surely, the worst of. A violent shudder ripped through him as he became aware of the fever’s presence, almost instantly making sense of everything in a matter of seconds. It was a fever. Just a fever. Knowing the cause of his illusion did not seem to make it lessen.
  

  Legs buckled under his weight but Nanook resisted and fought to keep his paws firmly on the ground. He would not succumb to this in superior fever. He would not let it control him for as long as it ravaged his body. He was stronger than it. The sound of approach caused ears to thrust forward, and a small grimace of disdain to play across his pretty lips as the multicolored female came through the green growth, her fur a coloration of reds, creams and whites. Golden haloed pupils sought her in a feverish manner, studying her as much as he could, grateful when the illusion of blood vanished in the wake of his company’s arrival, the vision ebbing away to reality. They were simply red ferns again. The fever caused his silvery, ivory fur to ruffle as it shook the willowy muscles beneath in another shiver. How was it possible to be both hot and cold? She approached, her stance passive dominant, he noted with satisfaction. Her chuff did not go unnoticed but it was her question that sparked any sort of acknowledgement beyond his attention. “My name isn’t boy,” Nanook spoke simply not feeling well enough to turn on his deceiving charm. "It is Nanook." He paused a moment, mulling over her question despite it’s simplicity. It begged for a simple answer and he wondered how safe it was to trust her with his temporary condition. The fever made him too ill to really put much effort forward should she decide to take advantage. Yet, looking at her she looked as ragged as he felt, and in a lapse of good self judgment Nanook decided upon the truth. “I am feverish.” In case she decided to stick around and in case the illusion of blood came slamming back.
  

His reaction made her want to crawfish from the conversation; but it was not in her to truly give up, just because of a poor attitude. It was her own fault for being rude after all, and she had to make up for that. The way he spoke - correcting her for the use of the word boy - made her shrink back slightly. The submission stemmed from her own understanding of right and wrong; her words had been quick and curious, and had not considered the stranger's state in a thorough fashion. She felt a bit ashamed for being so direct, and so Lisette's ears fell against her head and she looked pathetically away from him. There was no outright apology, though. That had not been trained in to her, but she knew it was warranted. The woman was a high-born individual and the fact she was talking to a commoner (for all she knew) made the concept of a proper conversation difficult. When the boy gave his name, she gave an acknowledging nod and pricked her ears up again, shifting them towards him for whatever came next from his mouth.


"I am feverish," he mentioned, and Lisette instantly lost her submissive posturing. Part of her wanted to simply apologize and leave - lest she become sick with whatever he had - but that was far from noble. That was the opposite really, it was cowardly, and she would not let such a feeling overpower her. Instead she gave a furtive glance around the area, quick and unobtrusive, and she even tried to nimbly step around him to look for a remedy. Alas, she could not recognize anything that could help - she was no healer after all, there were handmaidens for such things - and so her efforts were in vain. Defeat nestled itself sullenly upon her shoulders as she began to speak again, hoping the boy would be safe and healthy even without her intervention. "I do not know how to help you, but I would if it were possible." She wanted him to know that, even if he was just a rude stranger. "But I can help you look for a remedy, if you know what to look for?" Really she sounded a bit pleading there, but Lisette meant well. She just wanted to make sure everything was alright - perhaps instil within this boy a new opinion about her, aside from blundering fool which she surely must appear to be, at this point. Another glance was cast around her feet, then his, but it was less energetic than the initial attempt. Mid-motion she remembered her manners and, with a blush to her cheeks, tried to introduce herself. "Oh, my name is Lisette, if... If that matters any," it probably didn't.

• Eyes of liquid gold followed the movement of her shirking back with hawk-like precision, but in his general feeling unwellness he found that he could not particularly feel much, if any, satisfaction in the gesture of subtle submission. Simply because he did not feel well enough to feel the pleasure in seeing such submission did not mean that he was backing down, for how many times had he been told any sign of weakness and someone would be challenging you for your place. No, he could not let that happen. His dominance would not be challenged. It had been once by the mud mongrel, and while Nanook had been victorious, had defended his rightful place at the throne of the puppies hierarchy he had been punished for it. While he hadn’t been disowned by his parents he had still be exiled. The sting of their disapproval felt like a thousand whip lashes across his back and in a fit of childish anger he, rather, had disowned them. His forgiveness was not given. If it was something they wanted they would have to earn it like everyone else needed too. Nanook was not one to make exceptions to his own “laws” and had always stuck to his proverbial guns when it came to them which, he suspected, might have been fairly rare for one as young as himself. Though his youth was evident upon his face and he could not really blame her for calling him ‘boy’ it still crawled under his skin, irking him in ways that she would never know. Truth or not, the word felt like an insult and displeased him, it was as simple as that.
  

  Admitting what was wrong with him had been a bold step, Nanook knew. Exposing his weakness -- this time a physical as well as mental one -- despite it’s temporary status. Eventually, with proper rest, the fever would burn off and he would be as good as new within a few days. Yet, it was still a weakness never mind how temporary it might be; and now because he could really not explain his delusion of blood any other way and (though why he cared was disturbingly unknown to him) he did not want her to be left caught off guard if the fever took control of his rational mind once more. He told himself it was because he did not want to be attacked when, in truth, he stood little chance of properly defending himself (he was too pretty to be scarred up, after all) but he could not actually say if that was the truth or a lie he was telling himself. The woman spoke to him once more, and felt his expression twist into one of perplexity as her words nestled into his brain. He could not make sense of it, would not have been able to, Nanook suspected, even if his body wasn’t been ravaged by a fever, simply because her words were borne out of a kindness that the Darkling did not understand. Lips parted, salmon pink tongue snaking out to smooth over his upper lip and nose as his ears pulled back to lay at half mast atop his skull. “Why?” Nanook inquired, not intending to sound dismissal or ungrateful. Simply, he wanted to understand why she would help him when he had been so uncouth to her. He was uncouth with everyone and it was not something she needed to take personally but still, he could not wrap his mind around the belief that she would help him, if she could.
  

  She spoke once more of helping him look for a remedy if he knew what to look for, and though he thought he detected something of a pleading tone in her voice he ignored it and chose not to bring attention to it simply because he could have been wrong. There was no telling if the fever was playing with his senses now, for it already had once and accordingly, his interpretation of things was already skewed by it. Thinking about his parents, his past, was not something Nanook took a particular joy in, and while he had never showed much interest in medicines he had paid attention, nevertheless, when Aether had taught him about the different plants and their healing and poisoning properties. His father had been a bit of a book worm (so to speak) and had taken it upon himself to learn all that he could. Nanook had siphoned Aether’s aptitude for learning (and learning quickly, which often meant Nanook was bored with his lessons and the follow-up reviews that always came a few days after) from his father’s genetics so that while he was rather bored out of his mind, he was listening and soaking up the information given to him, much like how a sponge soaks up water. “There are these flowers, they’re little and white…they grow on clusters on tall bushes or shrubs…they sort of have the shape of lilacs almost but the clusters are much smaller.” He described recalling the image with relative easiness. Though his description might not have been very helpful he, at least, knew what he was looking for. Despite that, Nanook was not too sure they would find Serviceberry in this particular forest or region but it was worth a look.
  

  She offered her name, though if her feelings as she offered it too him, be them what they may, showed at all on her expression went largely unnoticed by Nanook. “Lisette?” Nanook repeated, rising his feverish liquid gold eyes to glimpse at her face for a few seconds before he returned to surveying their surroundings once more. It was easy enough to pronounce and easy enough to remember. There was a nagging in his mind, an irritating little whispering that made him want to reassure her, for some odd and wild reason, that it did matter. Knowing her name. Maybe it was the silver-tongued deviant that he had shut off in his ill state, or maybe it was the fever itself but regardless of rhyme or reason he glimpsed back at her and spoke, “It matters.” Leaving the soft spoken words hanging in the air as the enigma they were.