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Post by Fenrir on Nov 6, 2007 14:02:08 GMT -5
He hated this, all these weaknesses. From Fenrir's beautiful looks to his silver allergy and equal magic-induced allergy to his inability of proper form control on nights of the full moon, once a month; he was drowning in weaknesses. And that didn't even include his stupidity at being too open to all of those around him, voicing thoughts and feelings openly without filtering information that could lead to his doom.
He was like a time bomb just waiting to happen.
The taboo child, was what his pack had named him; a thing that should not, could not, exist. As if all of the gods in the heavens above were just rooting for his failure, for his pain. Insisting upon it.
Somehow, someway, he'd always made it through though. Out of any otherwise impossible situations, he'd end up on top. Alive and well, perfectly suited. This was largely due to these abrupt actions on his part, some spring of horribly good luck, an observation or even just a few words put out innocently but honestly. A last made effort at a hopeless situation.
And today looked like it could be the one, in which all of his horrid luck came to an abrupt end. The one he had dreamt about since he'd first heard his mother utter the correct version of that wonderfully-made song, since he'd felt all the hate and envy of his one-time pack every time his back was turned, since he'd woken in the night to find himself drenched in the blood of his ultimate friend and rival. The only difference between now and then was that he had hoped his attacker would be dear, wonderful Tyr. Because then there would at least be purpose to the slaughter, purpose to the death. At least then maybe his friend would have found peace too and he'd have regained some of that honor he'd never been born with.
He hated to think like that, but what was worse was that he knew he'd have gotten out of this whole situation easily had it not been within his nature to open up to others. To care for them. If he hadn't have met the lovely, young Fae maiden with the equally beautiful personality and wonderfully addictive scent. He would have done, would have escaped then, as he always had:
By changing, by fleeing and by never looking back.
He'd have fled at the first sign of trouble, the first stirring of noise, wary not to shift there, directly in front of them, for they'd take advantage of the few minutes it took to complete his wolf form. And he would have outrun them due to his Werewolf attributes, flying past them in the wood and never returning to the abandoned hut he had considered 'home' for a day and forever. And first chance he'd get, he'd have secluded his destination, hidden himself, and changed shape, becoming the powerful wolf he had been known for once among his people, what he'd been feared for. With his extended senses of smell and hearing, he'd have been able to lose them in the mystery that was the Chamele forest. He would not have been forced to meet the angry cut-throats head on. He would have never even considered going into combat with them. To kill them.
But that had sadly not been the case in his current situation, for he'd been forced into protection of another soul besides his own. And fleeing, while leaving said soul behind, was a cowardly act that had never once come across his mind. And once those silver chains had tangled about his wrists, burning them, scorching them through until meeting bone, more than likely scarring him for life -he'd been unable to change shape and tip the tables in their favor from the ambush.
Even so, they could have further been able to escape this situation had the Werewolf's weakness for magic not been in place. The Fae maiden would have still been on high alert, magic coursing through her and ready to be pulled at any second, had she not lowered such a thing first time she noted his disability firsthand. As much as he'd have hated being rescued and not supplying any help in return, they still would have made it. They'd have survived.
Fenrir felt a huge drain of his strength give way, the pain taking him, coursing through his body like a never-ending flow of electrical shocks, even as he lay unconscious. The pit of darkness laid bare before him was a welcome emptiness, yet the torturous feelings still remained with him, doubling over in intensity, making him want to scream. In the far-off edges of his mind he was dimly aware of a tight voice, one that called him a fool, the word echoed in his head before he lost complete sanity.
The hopelessness of this situation angered him, enraged him completely. Until he was pulling on that pain with all of his might, calling to it; reminding himself that it was real, that he was real, that he was still alive. The pain brought him back. Back to where he could try to protect an innocent soul fighting for his ruined one. And as suddenly as he was able to open a set of flinching, hazel eyes, that pain he'd welcomed lessoned, depleted to a mere throb and everything else returned to him. He was aware of the body atop him, the one that lay in exhaustion now, utterly spent of her magic, the one breathing hard warmth across his bare chest. The smell of her surrounded him.
There was a snapping of twigs and brush, the Werewolf's head jerked upward as he tried to pinpoint the noise up close, sharp eyes landing on the remains of the axe-man and coming to understand exactly what happened before he shifted them to the actual noise-maker. But it was merely one of the archers fleeing, apparently far greater afraid of this Fae-child's magic than the Werewolf whom had slaughtered their master. The second archer however, wasn't as stupid, the youth still looking through his sight-post at them, an arrow notched and seconds away from aiming true and running one of them through. But the youngster's hands were shaking, making the bow inaccurate in its aim and he knew one decent intimidation trick would have the kid flying away.
Even so, he didn't try to scare the kid with the predator-like growl that wanted to rip from his throat. No, he merely sat up, cradling the tiny figure in his arms, eyes never leaving off of the youth as he tried to reason with him: "Go now, boy. Enough blood has been shed and you've caused enough grievances on both sides. They wouldn't reward you for your capture of me at this moment. Take heart though, for I've relieved you of your master. Be free and never happen upon me again."
The kid slowly lowered his bow, eyes fearful and nervous as he hesitantly took a step forward, bowed his blond head and fled like the devil was on his heals, leaving the clearing without even a final word in return or one look back. Fenrir pushed to his feet when the cost was clear, stumbling a bit in his light-headedness and tightening his hold of the maiden in his arms as he did so. His eyes turned skyward to the blossoming amount of smoke that was fuming the sky, mentally calculating how much time they would have to flee if it got any bigger and people from the nearest town took notice. Unconsciously, he was still clutching the figure he held in a tight embrace as those calculating orbs scanned the horizons.
For now, they were safe.
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Findabhair
Newbie
The grass has watched you grow all along...
Posts: 35
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Post by Findabhair on Nov 9, 2007 21:08:31 GMT -5
((OK! Sorry this took so long! ^^;;;; I have no idea what inspored me to type the hell out of this, but I did... hopefully this long reply will make up for its lateness, or the fact that I'm gonna be gone until late monday night... ^^;;; I'm gonna be in Delaware, and have no intention of getting my hand on a computer, but I promise to give you another good reply on tuesday! ^^ See you in a few days, Fen! <3 ))
The only image that she could see before her eyes was the village in which she had grown, years before. With one final cough as she felt herself clawing extremely feebly at the muscular arms that were now holding her up, Findabhair only realized the blackness that was consuming as soon as everything went black, and she was out.
It was a very small congregation in which Finda had grown. Many years ago, when she just barely came up to her father’s hip, despite her rare height, and his rare lack-there-of, they were celebrating the end of Spring, their harvest season and time in which they were most powerful, just as they did every year before, and for every year after. Each and every tree-bound home and hut was decked out with hand crafted, colorful rice-paper lanterns, alight with the brightest of lightening bugs trapped inside of them. There was at least a million of them, shining so beautifully throughout the entire village. Even the bridges, that linked each tree that housed a building, were lined with them, as well as a rope laced of the most gorgeous flowers that the earth fae have grown in years.
Even the forest in which the earth fae found their home seemed ready for their celebration. The woodland creatures were all frolicking, despite the late dawning hour, and the plant life that thrived on the sun were spreading themselves and their beauty for all to bask in for the all night celebration.
Now, leaning over the rail that bordered his home, the Chief of the congregation, the fae who his people had come to love so dearly, Grady Gael looked out over the preparations down below, at the ground level clearing. He stood at about ¾ the size of his shortest tallest daughter, with long, straight white hair that fell to the back of his knees. The most attractive characteristic of his physical appearance were is small, yet radiant olive-green eyes, that shined in the dark like a cat’s eyes, despite their pastel allure.
The wondrous smells of the women’s cooking was floating in every direction, as if the wind demanded that all the forest get a whiff of the tantalizing treats that the earth fae could create in the culinary world. Tables were set and decorated already, just as the last streak of the sun kissed the horizon fare-well for the night, and all of the people of the congregation were beginning to make their way down to the party.
With a soft grunt, a small figure slammed into the back of Grady’s legs, her tiny hands automatically grabbing for the Chief’s soft pant leg before she hit the ground. Gracefully fixing her error by springing to the side and stepping to her father’s side, Finda grinned up at him, excitement clear across her young face. Her moss green hair was combed completely though and done into a beautiful long braid the trailed all the way down to her ankles, flowers applied in the bends of the braid only to enhance the charm of the small girl. The festival gown that he mother had stitched her had a splash of every color that has ever been seen in a flower, from the most radiant blues, to the softest of yellows, all worked and weaved together into a beautiful dress that trailed behind Finda’s tiny bare feet, it’s spaghetti straps constantly slipping from her frail shoulders.
“Father, can we go down yet?” she asked, looking out at the vast collection their people whom were already gathering. The undistinguishable sound of many other girls, Finda’s eager sisters, was only a mere background noise to Grady until now.
Reflecting Finda’s smile, he nodded, “You and your sisters may go down… have Rowin take lead you all down, alright? And stay by her…” With that quick reply, Grady patted her on the head, knowing that the smooth feel of her combed hair would most likely never be felt by his hands again, and gave a quick laugh, “How is it that your mother got you to sit still long enough to actually get a comb through that usual mess?” he asked.
Rolling her eyes, the little one was already turned around and halfway through the door into their home, “Don’t get me started…” Finda sighed, the sarcastic comment far too wise beyond her years, which gave her father another chuckle as he lost sight of her through their thin, sculpted tree-bark door.
The night became alive with the chatter of the earth fae as they commenced the celebration. Their band, clad with their own personal hand made string instruments, unique only to the earth fae alone, enriched the forest with the most tantalizing, seductive music that drew even the oldest amongst them to get to their feet for a few dances. All of the children, most of them the children of the Chief and his wives, we spotted out of the corner of the olders’ eyes, causing mischief and playing their little games, high on the thrill of the excitement.
It was when the Chief banged his staff on the ground, causing a force through the earth that no earth fae touching the bare ground could ignore. The band automatically stopped, and the pleasant chatter froze as the chief rose from his table.
“This has been a splendid year, my friends. Our harvest was more successful then even I can remember, and the outlook of the rest of this year looks pleasant, comparing our stocked up produce and supplies to that of the years where we were living off of the bare minimum. Never again will that happen, now that I have made it to power, though I still grieve over the passing of Chief Terran, now eight years ago.” with that, he grew silent, and they all lowered their heads in respect.
Raising his head once more, a grin was now across his face, “Now, onto the news of our people, my friends! The wedding of our most trusted soldier, Tyrn, to his childhood love, Avalbane, is to take place within the oncoming summer! Of course…”
Her father’s speech faded with Finda’s interest in it as she crawled back under the table, where her sisters that were closer to her in age, as well as their friends found shelter from the adult activity.
Breena, one of Finda’s many sisters, turned to her with a giggle, “Do you think tonight father will let us try the sleepy nectar?” she asked, the green flecks in her blue eyes reflecting Finda’s own green.
“Maybe me! I am the oldest out of these children…” Finda lied, holding her chin up proudly.
With more giggles, the rest of her sisters mocked her positive outlook on the unlikely possibility. And the older ones objected to her fib.
The arguing took place right out from under the table, and, as the party took life once more, commencing the end of the Chief’s big speech, it made it’s way right up the their father’s unsuspecting hand.
Finda reached up and tugged on his fingers as he talked away with some of his elder friends.
“Father, might I try some sleepy nectar?” Finda asked in the harmonious of tones, her voice filling with the sweetest of honeys and sugar. Despite her young age, she already found it easy to charm any being.
Already taking in the situation, as he heard every voiced opinion from the fellow children, Grady smirked down at all of his children. Sleepy nectar was the drink that the adults would partake in only during the most joyous of occasions, due to its intoxication side affects. Looking down at all of his pestering young children, then to the class in his hand, in which he had been sipping his own bit of the nectar. With a sigh, he looked back to them, “Listen, my growing little ones. This season has been one that is to go down as legendary amongst our people!” he declared, placing his glass down onto the table as he strode the few steps to the serving table, “I propose a very, very small toast…” and with that, he turned to a young fae who was working the drink table, and ordered a dozen small, sip-sized glasses of sleepy nectar.
When the Chief came to Finda, handing her her tiny portion of the nectar, she stared up at her father in disbelief, and could merely nod a thanks as her tiny, long fingers wrapped around the glass and accepted it. As her father walked on the hand out the rest, she looked down into the golden syrup with a face of pure amazement. Tonight, she was truly no longer a child, she thought as she grew a wide smile and, taking in a deep breath, down the very small mouthful of heaven.
It was as if she had been hit in the head, minus the great pain. Spinning on the spot moments after the nectar hit her little stomach, Finda stumbled, giggling, to the seat in which her father had been sitting. Her vision slowly became funnier and funnier, as she blinked away the first wave of surprise from the affects of her drink. She could hear her sisters reacting the same way, their giggling growing louder and less controlled. With a sigh, she gave another loud giggle.
Finda barely noticed her mother scoop her up from her seat in a hurried motion, nor the abrupt stop of the chatter and music, a few minutes later, after she stared blankly off at her sisters, all drunkenly playing, stumbling, and some, the youngest, grow sick of their bodies’ scary reaction to the sleepy nectar.
Grabbing her mother’s wrists as she was hoisted into the air, Finda look up lazily, “Mother, father allowed us to! I promise…” she uttered with a dopey grin.
Giving a curt nod, Finda’s mother, Collice, looked about at the other mothers, whom were doing the same to their children, trying her best to hide her anger and fear, “Get them up to the Chief’s home… the children are promised shelter there for now.” she said in a rushed tone to a passing mother, who nodded quickly and went off to tell the others, as well as get her own children.
“Oh, mother, is it something exciting?” Finda asked, turning her attention back ahead of her, to find a hectic scene of rushing fae.
Clearing her throat, Collice began her climb up one of the many ladders that lead up to their home, the Chief’s tree hut, “Darling, only a precaution. Now, please, let me get you up here and take care of some things.
Moments later, Finda stood, trying her best to keep her balance, as she watched the adults scurry about below.
“I feel it growing worse… has anyone gone and checked at all?”
“One of the soldiers has. He speaks of mere adolescences. Here to cause mischief with the come of their own god-forsaken season…”
“Wait, there actually are a few coming? Do they bare arms with them?”
“I hear that the youngsters of those horrid fae always do!”
Leaning her light head against the cool, smooth wooden rail, Finda sighed, “What?” she asked the empty air as she heard all of the other children, all crammed within the home, most drunk and frightened of something they knew nothing of.
And then it happened. Though her powers were weak, and barely developed, the rush of heat that swept through Finda made her knees buckle, and seconds later, there was a bright, burning light, erupting just at the edge of their clearing.
Stumbling to the ladder, Finda watch the four teenaged fae, completely contrasting to the natural, beautiful fae of the earth, strut into the clearing, they, too, with their own drunken swagger.
They had a beauty of their own. A terrible beauty. One couldn’t help but admire them, but to go near them would be unthinkable. Their skin, like the earth fae, was extremely pale and creamy, yet their dark, striking hair colors, of amazing reds, oranges, and pure black, almost cast a burning shadow over the steps the took, and their piercing, dark eyes, could make even the strongest soldier question her strength against them.
There were three boys, and a single girl, whom had her arms draped around the one male that walked ahead of them all, baring a burning torch. Her gave a drunken laugh as he held the torch up and turned for a quick, sloppy kiss from his companion.
At the sight of the torch, Finda’s stomach churned far worse then she’d ever felt before. She had great difficulty making her way down the ladder, so she didn’t even bother to try to stop herself from her own curiosity.
By now, as Finda’s little bare feet touched the ground, she nearly passed out on the spot, the feeling of great illness and wretchedness that she absorbed through the ground overpowering her tiny body.
The first thing that she automatically was the heat. It was so unbearably hot down in the clearing, despite the large mass of adults, forming a wall between her and the bright lights that the teens were causing at their very feet, spreading across the grass. Then it was the feeling of death that came from all manor of life that the bright light touched. After a few coughs and gags, Finda fell to her knees and vomited, eyes tearing up with confusion and fear.
She knew other things were happening around her, ‘cause, after she lay herself down on the weeping earth, minutes later, the heat was fading, and she felt cool, calming hands over her, but there was still a burn in her chest, the forced her to cough, despite fading in and out of consciousness, and the pain that she felt through the earth, though it was slowly quieting, still echoed in Finda’s tiny mind. And the bright light…
Findabhair opened her eyes suddenly openly to see bare, tanned skin. The skin of a well muscled chest. Then the pain returned to her senses as she blinked. How long had she been out? Days? Hours… It was only seconds, she realized, maybe a minute, but barely anything.
Weakly pushing herself as far as she could away from Fenrir, fighting his tight embrace, she turned to the still spreading fire, and gave a squeak of a gasp, turning back to Fenrir’s eyes, bracing herself for the pain of death from the earth below her, which she could feel, very slowly feeding through her bare feet.
Digging her nails absentmindedly into his chest, Finda tried beating her wings, as if to find concentration in something else, only to find more pain as the hot air was forced through the slit in them, the raw flesh unable to bare it.
It was completely impossible to think. Eyes flashing from side to side, Findabhair just trembled in Fenrir’s arms, unable to even curse her own weaknesses and inability to now fend for herself.
“Make it stop…” was all she could muster as she forced her tearing eyes shut, feeling her breath against Fen’s warm chest.
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Post by Fenrir on Nov 15, 2007 13:07:10 GMT -5
It had been sometime, perhaps over twenty years, since the Werewolf had cradled another being in his arms. That person had been Tyr, of course, as the young Angel had been in one of his falling moods, unable to explain what was wrong or why he was crying and yet craving the hold of something, someone that would stay a constant 'saving grace' in his life.
This thought dimly ran through him as he watched the glowing flames spread higher into the air like they were some type of hypnotic pulse, keeping him silent and unmoving in his standing position with the Fae body pressed heavily against him. A body that was much cooler to the touch than the warming surroundings all around him. The heat was immense, especially so as he caught site of his favored hut catching flame, equally fueling the fire into a rampage of burning wood, remorse following after him as the meal he'd had so much excitement hunting, also was devoured. The fire was erasing everything. All evidence that they had ever even been there: gone. And yet, others would come to seek what was causing this huge smoking could.
There was a slight shift in the weight of the maiden he cradled and his now flaming orbs turned to the movement quickly, forgetting the sting of his wounds that were starting to swell with burn at the thickly planted smoke gathering about them. Fumes that could prove toxic to his already, silver-infected, form and maybe even fatal to the gracious little earth Fae with him. She was suddenly struggling against the lycan though, to the point where he almost lost all hold on her and dropped her light figure, until her eyes swept over the destruction of what such a tiny light of flame had caused (was still causing) and then she was pushing back into him with a firm lock on his eyes, emeralds searching it seemed for an out to this situation. The orbs spoke of misery, fear, and oncoming braces of pain and a frustration that was probably close to tears.
Fenrir felt the little crescents of her nails dig into his solid chest, a low hiss escaping his thin lips as he purposely embraced her tighter, instinctively wanting to shoulder all of her burdens, to protect her, to save her. He had a hopeless moment when he thought he wouldn't be able to remain standing, his body abused and weary, light-headed and seconds away from becoming totally numb with those silver chains still around him and Finda had swung her wings in a near-panic, sharply coming to a halt as if the things were injured somehow but nonetheless making the Werewolf off-balanced by the move. But he remained solid and when he took his first step, he didn't sway anymore so than he could help it, not faltering in his conviction to get them out of there.
He wasn't aware of the memories that were coming to attention in the young Fae's conscious, haunting or warning her whatever be the case, and he wasn't aware of her pain that the flames were causing to her due to the destruction of the Earth. His only thoughts were of the other city-dwellers coming to see what the smoke was all about and that both him and his companion seemed to be sporting injuries they'd need more than a days worth of recovery to defend themselves from. He also knew that somehow, someway, he needed to stop the spread of that fire.
But first: safety. They needed to get as far away from the flames as possible.
“Make it stop…” the tiny request had him pausing, looking down at the petite figure whose flesh was literally draped over his own, eyes now showing the tears that she'd been hiding. The cry only spurred him into action faster.
Taking in a huge rush of air and then gritting his teeth in preparation, the Wolf took off at a swift run, arms holding onto the maiden far tighter than before, gripping her behind the head and under the knees gently. He knew it was going to hurt and he equally knew he was going to probably faint at the end of all of this. And yet still, he allowed the adrenaline rush to overcome him, to dim his sense of feeling as he knew the silver within him would probably be searing at this type of movement. Calling to the wolf within, he let loose an enormous, inhuman howl. A warning. To those of the forest both human and animal, they would understand the meaning.
He was headed to that miniature lake from before, the one in which they'd first met at. His sense of smell catching the subtle whiff of the creek that merged within the deep surface of that lake. Leaves tangling upon the vines of the trees as they made their way down in the ever-continuing fall of the season. The lake's reflecting surface came into sight for him, the rising moon catching a beam of light across the dark liquid. The sight of that moon reminded him how far away he was until the next night of a full one.
Actually, it also reminded him of a certain female's things being left at the birth of that fire, a memory of the young woman drenched and clinging to those 'weeds' as she caught first sight of him.
Fen cursed under his breath as he came to a stop at the edge of that lake, silently settling his bundle of flesh to the ground and pushing himself back into a standing position before he looked over his shoulder back in the direction they had come. He could still catch the dull scent of the burning on his skin, a reminder of what could happen if he wasn't careful. And he was cold now, desperately cold as the evening chill spread through him without interruption of those flames from before. Despite the risks he knew were involved, he faced that direction with a promise inwardly to repay the Fae for saving his life. Without even looking over, he jerked the silver chain from his wrist, tearing flesh and spilling blood from the links having burned deep into his flesh, the searing pain from before creeping stronger up his shoulder and across his chest in a fatal caress that was so like the forced change that it had him pausing.
But not for long. With a last look over his shoulder at the maiden in her fright, he took off at a pace worthy of his race and more, spilling himself into the wicked surrender of his inner wolf.
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Findabhair
Newbie
The grass has watched you grow all along...
Posts: 35
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Post by Findabhair on Nov 17, 2007 23:27:01 GMT -5
Somewhere deep within Findabhair’s mind, a very small part of her was able to stay in control, observing the situation from far, far away. All had quite honestly gone far too wrong.
At first, she automatically hated how easily she had gotten into the situation in the first place.
With a load roll, Finda’s stomach churned angrily with the intake of think, tainted air, causing her to wince in even more pain as she fought to calm her body, only focusing on the one part of her mind that couldn’t feel anything on the outside.
If she had never been so approachable when it came to some strange, dirty beast, and let her guard down, she would most likely be sleeping in the comfort of a beautiful, blooming field, only the tallest of flowers obscuring her view of the flawless night sky.
Sheer instinct forced Findabhair to actually find the strength to speak, and when she begged Fenrir for his aid, she refused to lose that strength. Keeping her eyes wide and alert, as the watered with the sting of the filthy air, as well as her great tears of confusion, she caught sigh of the woods behind him just under his arm, which clutched her. Though her strength was nothing compared to his, her feet automatically attempted to move her in that direction, the safety of the unhurt, untainted canopies. The tall, looming trees giving off a comforting shadow in the partial moon’s light.
And what of this now? Placing all of her trust onto this foul mutt in such a horrid situation? Despite how she looked, she could easily fend for herself if he weren’t so forceful. In fact, with out him, never would she have found herself here in the first place. Curse him to hell is all she can possible do.
“I’ve gotta go…” Finda uttered so feebly, it sounded as though she were whispering mid-sleep. Biting her lip hard as she extended her arm towards the safe woods, she pathetically tried to push herself away from him and get past him, though all she found herself doing was tumbling over herself, her lightheadedness continuously causing her to loose her footing and stumble. “Please, get me out of here…” she then coughed, her voice nothing but a squeak. It was now that the pain was setting in. The pain of the fighting, her power torn from her from using it all in one blow, her wing’s stung piercingly, her eyes reddened in tenderness, and the great feeling of death only forced her to lurch over, fighting off the urge to vomit, as it seeped through her bare feet more and more, eating through her protective walls of tranquility, and feeding off of her panic.
What irked her most of all was that, as long as she was going to be with the mutt, why did she not flee at the first sign of trouble? It was absolutely none of her business what he may have done to those simple humans, nor what they intended to do to him. By the time she decided to take her own action, she truly should have been miles away. Let the fools fight over their petty things. She cared very little for them.
As soon as she felt herself being swept off over her feet, Findabhair was quickly swept away from her thoughts. The pain that was feeding through from the earth came to an abrupt stop as she allowed the quick, cooling breeze that swept past her. She knew they were moving only by that sweet smell of the air becoming slowly fresher. His warm, muscular arms actually becoming comforting as her body found in impossible to adjust from the heat, to the cooling.
Only when they stopped did the pain come flooding back. It was no longer coming in, but Findabhair had already gotten enough of it. As soon as she felt her skin touch the group, she sat on her knees, bent over, and allowed herself to gag. Shivering and coughing, she let herself calm before she turned her head upwards to just catch Fen turning his back to her, turning to face the direction of the fire again. Gasping, she crawled only a few steps before he was suddenly mid-transformation, and was racing away.
Giving a weak scream, she threw her palm against the earth, as far towards him as she could reach, and a single root shot out and caught Fenrir’s hind leg, pulling him back down to the earth along with it. It came to life for only seconds, then shriveled and released him, she as Finda drew her arm back.
Slowly looking up to him, still trembling, and trying not to even think of the fact that she felt the urge to get sick again, Findabhair shook her head, “Oh, you would be a far greater fool then I though you to be if you went back, pup…” she called out to him, breathlessly, though she tried her best to keep her voice firm and deep, never letting her fierce, venomous green eyes falter from the stare of his own hazel gaze.
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