The old, familiar scent of loam, the fading smell of summer's rich grass and warm winds. The only thing she had known - the only season - was slipping away, rapidly spilling into something of decay, of naked trees and twisting branches, a firestorm of colors sweeping through. And the green, it gave way, slowly but surely turning into this other thing. With its passing - or the coming of the yellow and red? - her fur grew thicker, shaggier, covering some of her puppy slimness. At first it had bothered her, as she had not known anything else, but it soon became obvious that all the wolves' coats were growing rougher. And when she met her first frost, she knew why it did.
That night had been her coldest night ever, though in the den it had been warm as ever, piled up against Rissa and poor, lost Mother. But somehow, the disappearance of her brothers and father had not altered her world as much as it, maybe, should've; she saved those thoughts for later, eyes alight in the monochrome night, and thought instead of the frost. It had been beautiful - breathtaking, even, as it had shimmered silver upon every surface in the moonlight. But it had been cold. The great, dark vault of the sky had been pitch black, the dots of the stars nothing but distant reflections of the frost upon the ground: chilly, unyielding, the moon a block of ice. The wind had drawn its icy fingers through her fur relentlessly, licking against her skin and stealing the warmth from her soul. Even her breath had pooled into something white and cold, a cloud of mist in front of her face, before disappearing. She had never before known that breath had a shape. Why did they not see it when it was warmer?
Tonight was not so cold, as to bring frost, no. For a moment she had sat right outside the den, watching the world and how it didn't seem so different when the light was gray - you couldn't really see that the trees were fiery instead of green, or that the grass was brown and dying... Besides, she felt uncomfortable leaving Mother alone for too long. She sighed, picked up her furry behind from the cold night ground, and slowly began to pad away in the darkness. She loved her mother and her sister, but being near that well of sorrow was overwhelming - it soaked through skin into the soul, a smothering blanket of helpless rage and grief across her heart. She couldn't breathe. Out here, she could.
She had loved her kind, adoring father; he had been a barricade against the pack, should they crowd in upon them, silly and playful but strict when they crossed a line. She had loved her younger brother Torrel, his rowdiness, and energy. An as she loved her pack, she had loved her older brother Rihael, but never been as close to him.
Yet, it was Rissa she felt her soul had welded itself against, a deep connection. If it had been Rissa, and not Torrel, that father had taken, surely Aiyana's heart would've broken in two and her world been torn asunder.
Of course, she missed them - but if they came back, she wasn't going to welcome them. Her golden eyes narrowed in the darkness for a moment as she picked her way through the Sacred Grove. She needed to be free. To think - not lie in that stifling den, being drowned in a soul-deep sorrow and grief. Her father, the father who had sworn he loved Aiyana and her siblings and her mother, had left them. Taken a piece of their hearts and gone. She could have no love, no longing, for someone who did such a thing. Her heart hardened, a faint growl running out of her mouth. What they had done, could be described in a single word: unforgivable. And she had to live with the aftermath, the wreck of her mother, and she was powerless to help Corinna. She couldn't turn back time. Could only make sure that she slept in the den, and never went out of the Grove; never threatened to disappear.
She wasn't a good enough hunter yet. She stayed out of love and out of duty, refusing to cave in like her coward father had done - but it could not stop her from taking nightly walks. If Indru wanted to leap out of the shadows and abduct her, she'd fight him. Besides, she was just outside the borders, padding along, trying to cool off.
It was too easy to get angry, when you were hurt.