Sea Horses:

Chapter Forty Seven:

She stays near the town at first. She watches as a crowd gathers, Mrs. Fieldson crying into the shirtsleeves of some gentleman, Peter Gordon looking miserable. It starts drizzling, and Amaira shivers, but the numb part of her sees this as a good thing. The rain will soak further into the snow, turning it to slush, obscuring her trail. Mr. Appleby rides up with a string of horses, looking furious. There are angry shouts that don't quite reach her ears, and then the horses are being distributed, men swinging into saddles and spurring them towards the opposite tree line, following the tracks. There's a break in the crowd, Tommy and Leith shoving their way through. She sees a few people try to hold them back, but Leith drops to his knees when he catches sight of the open door, Tommy covering his mouth before his face screws up, and he marches over to Mr. Appleby, arms gesturing wildly. Mr. Appleby spins his horse in a circle, more shouts going off, before Tommy's mother gets a hold of him and Mr. Appleby's able to canter off towards the woods.

She can't stay out here in this rain. She knows this, but she can't help but do just that as a familiar chestnut gallops up to the house, well dressed rider slipping from his back. Jayden pushes his way through, striding into the house, and she can hear each of the doors bang open to the rooms even from here. He's back out then, grabbing ahold of the officer, and more yells go up. She sees Leith quietly get to his feet then, face murderous as he taps Jayden on the shoulder, getting his attention before absolutely decking him. There's a twinge of satisfaction in this as Jayden reels back, howling, but it doesn't last. She sees a pack of hunting dogs coming up the road, baying away, tongues lolling excitedly. And she slips away.

She just keeps moving at first, walking straight through the forest, keeping to the pine trees whose branches still afford her a bit of protection from the weather. It's still and quiet; the only sounds the snapping of twigs beneath her feet, the crunch of snow, the soft patter of the rain. She still can't feel her magic. Her thigh starts cramping up as she goes on, so she eventually has to stop, leaning against a tree and wincing as she peels her breeches down, pulling the fabric from the healing skin. It stings something fierce, but it can't be anything compared to...

She sinks to the ground, back against the tree while she cries, teeth grit in a soundless whine. It subsides after a while, only the occasional tear trickling down.

Hated her. The last thing she'd said to her mother. That she'd hated her. And now she can't ever apologize.

If anyone deserves to be hated, it's her; she's the one that killed them.

She wipes her nose on her sleeve, sniffing hurriedly before getting to her feet and resuming her walk. She finds deer tracks in the snow, tiny, little cloven feet picking their way from tree to tree, pulling at the bark. She numbly decides to follow them; it's better than wandering aimlessly.

She starts feeling a tickle at the back of her mind. Her magic's back. Oh it's faint, not nearly enough to call for Izzy, but it's there. And all of it, everything that's gone wrong is because of it. She starts hearing the dogs. They're far off yet; she can't even see them. But she can smell them. They're tired, exhaustion seeping into their scent. They've been at this nearly as long as she has. And they're running. There's the warmer scent of horses behind them, their nostrils no doubt puffing gusts of misty air out, moisture clinging to their muzzles, the bits cold against the corners of their mouths. They're hunting her. Again. One of the dogs lets out a triumphant bark. It's caught her scent. There's an immediate surge of activity, branches crackling, snow and ice crunching under hooves. And Amaira doesn't know what she'll do. There's no explaining this. There's no going back. And she doesn't want to go back. She's alone now. She'll have no say. She'll have to-

Anger surges through her. And it's his fault too. His fault she's been pushed to this. That not only does she have to lose her family, but her friends too. It's a fitting punishment her mind whispers, but she pushes the niggling little voice aside. Now is not the time for pity. She starts running despite her body's protests, but the exertion makes her sweat, makes her scent roll off her even stronger. A second dog's voice joins the first. She can feel them now. They're happy, tails wagging. It's all a game. They found her. Master will be pleased. Treats, they'll get treats. Good dogs. Get ear scratches. And it's Amaira. They love Amaira. She sneaks them food. Always knows the best spot for itches. But she's running. More game! The dogs quickly pull ahead of the horses in this weather, and soon Amaira sees a hound out of the corner of her eye. A collie streaks up behind it, bounding ahead to run alongside her. Amaira's heart sinks.

"What are you doing?" the collie yips cheerfully, fluffy tail wagging.

"Running."

"Chase?" The collie questions, ears pricking forward as it looks for what she's after.

"No."

The hound catches up then, slobbering happily.

"Master wants you. You come. Make master happy."

"No," Amaira hisses bitterly, and the dogs shy away.

"Why? Don't you want to be a good dog?"

"Being good dog is good. Only good dogs get treats. "

"Master likes good dogs."

"I'm not going back."

"Oh."

"Can we come?"

"We'll be good dogs."

"Very good," the collie echoes.

"No," Amaira glances behind her, the noise getting louder. An idea comes to her.

"Would you do something for me?"

"Of course."

"Dogs help. Dogs are good at helping."

"Good. I need you to turn around."

"What?"

"But you're this way. Master said to find."

"I know, I know, but I need you to lead them away from me."

"Why?" the collie cocks its head.

"I'm hiding."

"Why are you hiding?"

"You shouldn't hide. Bad dogs hide."

She doesn't have time for this.

"Look I just need you to pretend you found another trail elsewhere. In the opposite direction."

The dogs hesitate. Panic rushes through her as she sees another dog break through, the whistles of the riders not far off. She doesn't make the conscious decision, but soon magic's tinging her words, and the dogs have no choice but to obey.

"Get away!" A rush goes out of her, a quick ripple of blue, and the dogs yelp, bolting back the way they'd come. Amaira lets out a gasp of relief, but she keeps running even as she hears the angry shouts behind her, the yelps.

"Bad dogs!" Echoes in her head as she runs. And another tear trickles down her cheek. Now she's hurting her friends.

The dogs don't come after her again.

It's too quiet out here. Her little outburst earlier leaving her spent. She's stumbling wearily through the trees now, clutching at the trunks to steady herself. Eventually she just quits, sinking down beneath a pine and shivering. Night's falling, and it's getting cold.

She pulls the blanket out of her little pack, walling up the snow around her. She's young, but she's not stupid, and living in a country village did grant you at least a certain familiarity with nature. Snow's a better insulator than the air, so she hunkers down in the niche she's created, back to the tree to block the wind, knees tucked up tight to her chest. The wind blows stirring the snow up in an icy haze around her, and her teeth unwillingly chatter. It's bitter cold. She sleeps fitfully for the first hour, waking up and moving to keep herself warm. She's finally drifted off again when she hears the twig snap, sitting bolt right up, curls giving a jerk as her eyes scan the darkness fearfully. The first wolf pads out of the brush, staring at the little girl under the tree. It snorts, tilting it's head at her, breath misting out. Then it gives its coat a shake, brushing off the worst of the snow before trotting over to her side, laying down against her. The wolf gives a soft sigh as its chin meets its paws, tongue swiping at its lips as it swallows, tail flicking to curl over its back legs. Amaira waits cautiously, but if the wolf's speaking she can't hear it. Not now. She edges a hand out to hesitantly touch the wolf's shoulder, its skin giving a twitch as she makes contact, but laying there relatively undisturbed. The warmth seeping from the creature is motivation enough, and she's soon curling her fingers into its thick ruff, shifting to lean against it. She's just put her head on its shoulder when another wolf trots out of the dark underbrush, observing them for a moment before coming to curl around her as well. A younger wolf appears then, not even hesitating, walking over to her pack and settling down in front of Amaira's chest, head wrenching around to give Amaira's nose a quick lick before resettling against her own paws.

She wakes up in the morning to bird song, feeling warm and toasty despite everything. Her eyes blink slowly open, frost clinging to her eyelashes and the top of her hair. The wolf she's pillowed herself on gives a soft chuff, rolling onto its side. Amaira slowly lifts her head, staring at the woods around her. She's further than she's ever been before. As she stirs so do the wolves, shaking themselves off and stretching, swiping tongues over lips, giving each other playful little nibbles on their cheeks. Amaira holds her knees to her chest, waiting nervously for them to speak. She can see one sit down in front of her, tilting its head curiously, but she can't make out what it's saying.

"I'm sorry," Amaira whispers "I don't understand."

The wolf gets up then, the rest of the pack paying attention, and she recognizes him as the alpha male, a great gray mass of muscle, his ear notched from an old fight. He trots a ways away, the rest of the pack flowing ahead of him, and he stops, turning and watching her. Amaira stares back. He comes back to her side then, whining once and then trotting away again. Amaira gets the message. She follows the wolf pack on sleep and cold numbed legs, floundering through the drifts they simply crash through. They stop and wait for her every so often when they decide she's gotten too far behind.

Amaira suddenly falls midday, letting out a cry

"I can't do it. I give up. I give up okay."

She lays down in the snow, crying out of frustration. Her family's gone, and she can't even run away right.

There's a growl at her back, and Amaira turns, baring her teeth ferally.

"I don't care. Leave me alone."

The wolf snaps at her, and Amaira's eyes flash, grabbing at the snow before her and whipping it at the creature. He lets out a yelp as it hits him in the face, and then he's barreling forwards, snapping at her face. Amaira snaps back. She and the wolf stare each other down, lips curled back and growling.

"I. Said. No." Amaira grits out.

The test of wills goes on a moment longer before the wolf spins away with a sharp bark, and he and his pack disappear back into the woods. Amaira sinks back down into the snow, letting her cheek rest on the ice, letting it numb her. She doesn't want to feel. She just wants to sink into the increasingly tempting realm of sleep. Amaira whimpers.

The wolves come back a few hours later to find her still lying there. She's asleep, body shutting down from the cold. They paw her awake, nipping at her arms and legs until she finally stirs, blinking blearily up at them as they pile in around her, sharing their warmth for the second time. She suffers the agonizing pain of frostbite for all of an hour before her magic heals it, and by that time the wolves are restless. She's too tired. She follows them without argument. They lead her into steeper terrain, climbing higher and higher up the mountainside until they turn off onto an old deer path that winds its way around a cliff face, eventually opening up to a forested clearing, a small stream trickling through with a cave etched into the side from lifetimes ago when the place was carved from a river. There's enough stray bones scattered about that Amaira's able to recognize it as the pack's den. The wolves file in and Amaira too, going to curl up mutely in the corner, hugging her knees to her chest. The alpha female looking at her and whining anxiously. She's an impressively golden color for a wolf this far North. The male nuzzles her reassuringly, and they settle down in the back, curled around each other. It's a small pack. Just six wolves, and as far as Amaira can tell two, the young ones, are last spring's pups. Her stomach growls hungrily, the wolves all turning to look at her. and despite herself she blushes. She rummages through her pack, pulling out a chunk of bread and nibbling at it. The wolves watch her, a few licking their lips, and Amaira can't help herself, habit leading her to break off a few pieces and toss them, watching their jaws snap them up. The cave stays impressively warm even as the temperature drops and a few flakes start to drift down.

Amaira wanders out of the cave the next morning, stretching languidly, looking unhurriedly at the landscape around. She dimly takes note of the haze in the air, and it takes her a few minutes to process the fact that she's seeing smoke, a thin trail spiraling up from the trees ahead. Had they really tracked her all the way out here? Panic floods her, and her scent must change because the alpha male comes trotting out of the cave, nose to the wind, his hackles bristling.

"What is it?"

Amaira starts when she can hear the low timbre of his voice. "Oh, I- I can hear you now."

The wolf looks at her, ear flicking curiously, "And I you. You smell different."

"Different?"

"You smell like a wolf."

Amaira doesn't know what to say to this, and it's odd to think of herself as recognizably different even in her human form.

"So you're the creature the whole forest has been howling about."

Amaira fidgets, and the wolf sniffs proudly, "I expected you to be bigger."

"Why are you helping me?" She whispers.

"Because you're one of us," the wolf says simply. "You're pack."

"I don't even know your name."

"Names are of little matter, especially when you're calling out like that."

"Calling out?"

"Any louder and I think half the forest will go deaf."

"I'm sorry I just don't know what you mean."

"You've been calling for help."

"I'm not saying anything!"

"Not outloud, inside. It's a pull. The whole forest is buzzing with it. We decided to do something about it instead of waiting for word to get back to that blasted Toru."

"You know Toru?"

"Please the whole forest knows that ridiculous stag. Always preaching his harmony," the wolf snorts, "I applaud the creature that finally takes a bite out of him."

"But if you don't like him…"

The wolf rolls his eyes, "Didn't I just explain that. You're not exactly giving us a choice. There's this little tug, pulling us all to you. We couldn't stay away even if we wanted to."

Amaira bites her lip nervously.

"Name's Bane by the way," the wolf calls back over his shoulder, trotting forward into the forest. "Wake the others, there's people nearby."

Over the course of the day as Bane keeps them to a steady trot, working at a diagonal from the party and taking them further up the mountain while staying within reach of the various caves scattered throughout the area, Amaira learns that her original suspicions are correct. The lovely golden she-wolf, Accalia, is Bane's mate. She'd been driven up North from the South when people had started to log her forest for lumber. The two younger wolves are last spring's pups. Ayame is a dark gold shot through with brown like her mother, while her brother Bleidd is more like Bane, a lighter gray than his father, but handsome all the same. The two others, a dark brown exiled male Daagard, and a light gray, almost white female named Bliss of all things make up the rest of the pack. As it starts to grow dark, the pack catches the scent of a herd up ahead, and after stowing Amaira in a nearby cave, they leave her to hunt. Bane himself proudly presents her with a piece of the spoils when they come back, the back leg of an elk clamped firmly between his jaws. The smell of death turns her stomach, hungry as she is, and she politely declines. She dare not start a fire anyway.

The hunting party continues to track them, and Amaira no longer thinks they're after her. After all, no girl could've been behind carnage like that, and a lump forms in her throat when she thinks of what might happen to her little adopted family if they do catch up, wolves never having been much liked by the towns in general.

She's running out of food. She'd been careful to ration it out, but there was no way to make it last forever. She carefully broaches the subject with Bane the next morning, the wolf flicking open a single eye at her, the only sign he was paying any attention at all to her.

"Um, I don't mean to-"

He growls, "Say it or leave me to my sleep."

"Well...how far are we from the next town?"

Bane's whiskers twitch, "Not very. Unless you mean the next town over from you because sorry pup, but we passed that over a week ago."

"Oh, well, um do you think, maybe, I mean-"

Bane's lip curls, "Yes you can go and associate with those humans of yours. Why you would ever want to-but I expect you're starting to feel the pangs of hunger. Not too pleasant are they. If you would stop insisting against eating with the pack-"

"Thank you," Amaira cuts him off, and Bane's ear twitches with annoyance, but he allows it.

"If that's all," he stretches, resettling his chin on his paws.

The pack takes her to the edge of the trees, milling about nervously, as the scent of smoke and fire reaches them. Amaira thanks them profusely, promising to rejoin them as soon as she's able. The sun's nearing the ground already, bathing the sky in deep reds. Amaira hurries from the tree line, rapidly finger combing through her hair. She spots an unattended laundry line hanging near one of the houses, and more importantly a cloak. Guilt prickles at her conscious at the thought of stealing, but she needs it. It's necessary she could always bring it back afterwards. So she slips the muted maroon cloak over her head, tugging it down to obscure her face. They should be far enough from her village, but with eyes like hers… She makes her way to the town's inn, keeping her eyes downcast and avoiding the curious stares of a few villagers getting ready to close their shops for the evening.

A bell tinkles as she opens the inn's door, a handful of other patrons looking up from their meals to glance disinterestedly at the newcomer. Amaira approaches the front desk nervously, a tired looking man writing in an accountbook.

"What'll it be lady?" He asks, not even bothering to look up, continuing to write, "And you best have the coin to pay for it, this ain't a charity, and the brothel's two blocks down if you're lookin' to work."

"N-no, just a room with a bath, and maybe a hot meal, if you're still serving."

The man spares her a glance, "We are if you've got the money."

Amaira nods, "Of course," fiddling with her coin purse to pull out the necessary amount.

The man eyes her warily, biting a coin to check its legitimacy, before snapping his fingers and waving a young maid forward. "Hanna will show you to your room. Bring that meal in a bit too. And-"

Amaira turns, pausing, fearing that he's somehow recognized her, "If you're a runaway, and I get word...well let's just say my silence ain't cheap."

"I'll, I'll keep that in mind, sir."

Amaira dips her head, and the man lets out a grunt, waving her off.

Hanna's quiet, bustling about the room and fixing Amaira a hot bath, glancing at her nervously.

Finally Amaira can't take it anymore, "What already?"

Hanna blanches, nearly spilling the water she's carrying over.

"I-I'm sorry miss." she sets the pitcher down, placing a towel near it as well, and Amaira lets out a frustrated huff. Hanna fidgets for another moment, scuffing the toe of her shoe on the ground, "It's just well...are you really a runaway?"

Amaira smiles thinly, "Why do you ask?"

"I meant no offense miss, it's just well, it's a bad time to be out. They've been hearing wolves see, and you know Penketh?"

She pauses, and Amaira nods stiffly, and the girl continues.

"Well apparently there was an attack. Whole family gone, just like that. Little girl and everythin'. They didn't even find the body of the one. Some real pretty girl too. Must be with the reward an' everythin'."

Amaira's throat goes tight. "Reward?" she chokes out, and Hanna blushes, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.

"'M sorry I figured everybody knew by now. The Bradleys put out a price on all the wolves' heads. Them cats' too. That girl that got killed was his fiancee see. Jayden Bradley himself is headin' one of the hunts. Anyone who's anyone is out in those woods trying to snag a critter or too. Not that I'm complanin,' it certainly makes for good business. The inn's been full for days, more comin' like yourself all the time. Stables are full too. Must've heard about Mr. Krager. He caught one of them mountain cats the other day, just sent out word. Jayden's going to be coming to our little town, won't that be something," Hanna sighs dreamily, "Have you ever met him?" she asks. "Everyone says he's the most handsome man in all of Tryn."

"Can't say I have," Amaira manages, and Hanna must take note of something because she flushes again.

"Oh I'm sorry, you must be tired, and here I've gone and blathered on about some wolves. Good riddance I say," she laughs nervously, "Well your bath's set, and I'll come by later with some dinner. It's chicken, my own recipe. Well anyways if you need anythin' else just holler."

Amaira swallows forcing a smile as Hanna departs, and she strips herself out of her filthy clothes, sinking into the water with a groan. The hot water soothes her aching muscles, leaching the pain out of her body. And she's terrified. Absolutely terrified, but there'll be time to worry later after she's scrubbed the grime from her skin. She takes her time, only eventually dragging herself from the water when it grows cold, her hands and feet pruning horribly. She dries herself off with the towel before tossing her clothes in the water as well, hanging them to dry before she slips into her one spare change of clothes, a thin cream sweater and brown riding pants. Her skin's pink and freshly washed, her curls air drying as she takes a look in the room's mirror, but nothing can hide the look of starvation, her normally vibrant eyes dull, her cheekbones standing out harshly in her face, and her eyes have tired purple bruises under them. She hesitantly lifts her shirt, wincing at the obvious jut of her ribs, poking at one just as her stomach lets out a raucous growl, and a knock sounds on the door. "Dinner!" Hanna calls brightly from outside the door, and Amaira hurriedly pulls her shirt back down, but a glance in the mirror tells her she's far too recognizable, especially if Hanna seems to be such an active follower of the story.

"Uh just leave it there, I'll get it in a minute."

"Uh okay," Hanna calls back, and Amaira winces at the note of confusion in her voice.

She waits a good five minutes before peeking out of her room before noting the platter Hanna's left for her, piled high with bread and a good portion of chicken and greens, a steaming mug of tea accompanying it, and Amaira brings it into her room, nose inhaling eagerly. She's never been hungry before. She doesn't know how to be, so when her mouth waters, she can't help but start wolfing it down. Of course as anyone who's ever been hungry before can tell you, this is the worst thing you can possibly do, and so she's barely a third of the way through when she starts feeling ill, and she's sick not much later. She paces herself the next time, only taking small sips and bites, letting herself readjust, and when she's finished, a good portion still on the tray for breakfast, she's never felt more stuffed in her entire life, even when she and Alissa had had the brilliant idea to eat that entire tray of muffins in one go and- Amaira's thoughts trail off, staring at the ceiling and biting back her tears. Oh how she misses them.

She wakes up in the morning to the soft patter of rain, and for one confused second she can't place where she is, not when she's nestled in the warm blankets, a roof over her head.

"Momma?" she calls out sleepily, and she hears a little giggle from the corner of the room, and she sits bolt upright hand reaching out, searching for a weapon because Sarah has never once-

"Nope sorry, just little ol' me. Thought I'd clear your tray for you, set out your washing basin."

Amaira's heart calms, slowly pulling her hand back towards her as she remembers where she is. Where her family isn't.

"You're a jumpy little thing aren't you." Hanna observes not unkindly as she putters about the room, taking Amaira's used towels. It's then that Amaira's eyes widen in realization, and she almost dives back beneath the covers, hiding her face.

"Are you feeling alright?" Hanna questions, noting the half-full plate, "Or was it just not any good. Be honest. I mean some people say I use too much-"

"No, no it was delicious!" comes Amaira's muffled reply, "So good I was saving some for today," she fibs, and she can almost hear Hanna puff with pride.

"Oh good, I'm so glad you liked it. Well I'll leave you to it then, maybe I'll see you down at breakfast?" she asks hopefully, "Maybe tell a country girl a story or two about where you're from?"

"Maybe," Amaira agrees anxiously, and Hanna's answering smile is a mile wide.

Amaira flops back relievedly in bed when the girl finally leaves. She throws a glance at the table and notices with a whine of disappointment that Hanna took her tray. Guess she'll have to venture out of her room after all if she wants to eat. Amaira washes her face as she tries to figure out how she can possibly obscure her appearance. There's not much she can do, but she eventually settles for tossing her hair to the side so it covers half of her face, and braiding it to try and hide her gentle waves. She throws the cloak back on, eyeing herself in the mirror and decides that if she's careful about it, she can hide the majority of her face. A dimly lit corner wouldn't hurt though. She makes her way down, settling in the back at a booth, the uncovered side of her face turned to the wall looking out the window.

Hanna brings her another mug of the region's tea, an earthy brew cut through with what Amaira suspects to be dill oddly enough, a hunk of bread and butter, along with a healthy portion of hot porridge. She picks at her breakfast, the bustle of the main room keeping her alert, and worry pricking more firmly at the back of her mind in the light of day. She'll have to get the pack out of here fast.

"Ugh!"

Amaira jumps as Hanna throws herself down into a chair next to her, "I thought the morning rush would never end," she groans. Her ginger hair is starting to escape her milkmaid braid, and she brushes a few stray pieces behind her ear.

"How was your breakfast?" she nods to Amaira's bowl.

"Very good," Amaira's quick to praise, and it had been.

"So where are you from?" Hanna chirps, dropping her elbows onto the table, head in her hands as she looks at Amaira. Amaira blinks hesitating, "Uh I'm from Briar Glen?"

"Oh really?" Hanna's voice is excited, and Amaira's stomach plummets. "I hear the rose festival up there is glorious."

"Oh it is." Amaira fibs, taking a sip from her mug of tea and praying Hanna lets the subject drop.

"So...what are you here for then? If not for the reward. I mean I guess not that I pegged you for a hunter or anythin', but-"

"Just visiting."

"Oh? Family? Maybe I know 'em."

Amaira flounders for a second before an idea lands, "Well I'm not visiting here per say, I've got family a bit further."

"Oh alright then."

At the girl's put out expression Amaira can't help but take pity, "Hey maybe you can help me. I'm looking to get some travelling essentials before heading out. You know some bread, salted meats or something."

"Oh sure," Hanna nods, "Well, we're really kinda the bakery in town, don't have a set one just yet. And I can probably ask around, have whatever else you need delivered here. I'll bring it to your room if you want, just make me a list."

Amaira nods, and Hanna disappears to grab a pad and pencil, dropping it off at Amaira's table as the bell rings, and Hanna groans, "It never ends."

She bustles off with a smile thrown Amaira's way, and Amaira cautiously echos it before snatching up the paper and hurriedly writing down what she sooner she finishes the sooner she can get back to her room and disappear-

"Blasted wolves!" Amaira turns to see a hulking man, dressed in frost covered furs stomp into the inn, throwing down his gloves on a table. He catches one of the patron's eye and strides over with a growl, "I was this close," he holds up his hand for emphasis, "And then this gray demon goes up and chews the twitch of the trap, and the one gets away. Who ever heard of wolves chewing snares, let alone the bit keeping 'em shut on the first try." He slumps into a seat, Hanna nervously bringing him a mug of the tea, which he grabs in a big meaty palm, bringing it to his lips and glugging it down before slamming the mug back on the table. "And you shoulda seen this bitch. Real beaut she was. Fur like the golden sun."

"Accalia," Amaira whispers, eyes widening.

"What happened then?" Hannah breathes, and Amaira's breath hitches, the giant man looking like he wants to throttle her.

"What happened then?" he roars, "I'll tell you what happened then. They got away an' I had to trudge back to town in this godsbedamned weather. I wish that Bradley boy luck. These ain't any old wolves I've dealt with."

Amaira feels sick. She disappears back to her room leaving the list on the table. She sits on her bed, staring at the wall, desperately figuring out what she should do. It's her fault they've got a target on their back. She should leave them. Steal a horse and ride South as fast and as far as she can. But god she can't do that, they'd be helpless. She has to take them with her. Get them out of Jayden's reach. Take them South. She scrubs at her eyes with the heel of her hand. She needs help. She's too young.

Hanna knocks in the afternoon, "Got your stuff, you can come out to the lobby and get it."

Hanna helps her pack the bits into her small pack, both sitting back and nursing a cup of tea at a table when they're finished. Amaira's quickly developed a taste for it. She and Hanna ease into a conversation, Hanna delighting her with stories from her time working at the inn. One such story has her throwing her head back in laughter, the cloak's hood slipping off. Hanna turns to her wiping a tear of her own from her eye, and Amaira smiles in return only for it to falter as Hanna's eyes go wide.

"Woah."

Amaira looks behind her, looking for what she sees.

"Jesu-Do you know?" Hanna physically turns her head back around.

Amaira looks confused before it dawns on her, ice flooding her veins.

"Oh my god that is so cool," Hanna squeals, and Amaira hurriedly shushes her.

"M right, right," Hanna reigns herself in, "But seriously though!"

Amaira bites her lip.

"Hey that's a coincidence," Hanna wags a finger in the air, "You know I think that girl that got killed, the one they didn't find the body of. I think she had special eyes too."

She sits there pleased with herself, and Amaira's frozen.

"Uh-"

"Wait a minute are you-?"

But Hanna doesn't get to finish her question, a man running in, clutching at the hat threatening to blow off his head, "Scouts," he pants, "just saw the Bradley boy."

He wheezes, and the innkeeper snaps his fingers at Hanna, "Somebody get that man a chair."

Hanna shoots her a wild eyed look, but goes off to do his bidding.

He collapses into it with a thankful glance her way, "Bout half a day off. Damn near killed me horse getting back here. Says he's got a message for the king." The man puffs his chest, "An' I'm to take it to 'em."

The inn erupts in a cloud of chatter then, and Amaira slinks back, throwing her hood up and disappearing out the backdoor.

It's too close. She hurries off into the woods passing a few people on their way to the inn to hear the latest gossip in the biggest scandal these small towns have seen in years. Probably since her eyes first changed color she muses bitterly. It starts to drizzle and Amaira curses her luck, praying that there won't be a storm tonight.

The wolves greet her with nervous whimpers and anxious whines, pressing up against her, twining themselves around her legs like overgrown house cats.

"There you are," and Amaira looks up to see Bane padding down, shaking out his great gray coat. "We need to leave. The pack isn't safe here."

"I heard," Amaira agrees, scratching his ears, "Such a clever boy you were to free your mate."

"Only because you showed us," Bane growls bitterly, and Amaira's lips quirk sadly.

"I wish I hadn't had to. But I'm all stocked up now," Amaira pats her pack, "So we're free to leave any time. Lead on sir." And Amaira watches as the ghost of a smile streaks across Bane's face, and she can't help but grin in response.

He throws back his head in the start of a howl, when Amaira yelps, running forward and grabbing at his muzzle.

"What are you doing?" Bane snaps, and Amaira pulls back, hands up to placate him.

"Didn't mean any harm by it. But we have to be quiet. They've got hunting parties all around."

Bane sniffs proudly, "Let them. They can't catch a wolf."

"They can, and they will," Amaira asserts, putting her foot down, "Maybe not you, but you want to see one of your pups slung over a saddle? Bliss? Accalia?"

"How dare you insult my mate like-"

"I was just at the inn, buddy. Hunter saw her coat and thought she was pretty-."

"At least he has taste."

"enough to wear."

Bane quiets.

"Now then, where we headed?"

The storm doesn't wait, rolling in around sometime in the evening, skies darkening further, winds whipping Amaira's hair into her face. She shakes as she spits out another mouthful of hair.

"You should really get away from me!" Amaira shouts above the wind, and Bane whines anxiously licking at her hand.

"Pack doesn't leave pack. Especially if they're hurt."

"Gonna be way more hurt if you don't leave!" Amaia turns to him, her gaze pained, "Really take your pack. I'll be fine. Meet you in the mornin'. I promise."

Bane hesitates.

"Go!" and her words perfectly coincide with a clap of thunder, sending Bane and the rest of the pack skittering away to find shelter and Amaira to her knees in the snow that's quickly turning to slush.

She holds it back as long as she can, but she's soon bursting out of her skin, rich black fur prompted by the smell of wolf in the air, and Amaira joins her pack in shape. Her nose takes a strong, wet sniff of the air, drawing in the scents. The pine, the snow, the rain, the warm, musky, spicey familiar odor of her pack. Accalia slightly sweeter than the rest, and further she smells town. Smoke and fire and wood and metal. But that's not enough to deter her. Not when she can smell the rich wheat scent of bread, hot bubbling fat, meat smoking on a fire, pots of boiling stew full of fragrant stored vegetables. Smell the salt of sweat, the odd perfumes that cling to their clothes and hair. The thud of their hearts. Amaira licks her lips. She doesn't feel scared anymore. But she's certainly not Amaira anymore either.

Amaira's not Amaira when she shifts, not since- And now that they've gotten a taste for it, blood seems to be the only thing her shifts want.

She wakes up sticky, matted hair tickling her face. She stretches languidly, body aching pleasantly, her shoulders in particular. She lazily blinks her eyes open, swiping her tongue over her teeth, before abruptly recoiling in horror at the gore before her. There's smashed furniture, a broken vase or bowl on the ground, scarlet drops spattered here and there, spreading out in arc from the great lake of blood surrounding the felled body. She's killed. Again. It's the hunter from the tavern she belatedly realizes, recognizing the gloves. Oh god she-she. Amaira retches into the corner of the little room. Her stomach gives another heave, but she's thankfully empty now, and she sinks back against the wall, swiping her fist over her mouth. She has to get out of here. Find clothes, find the pack. Survival sends her to his room, the shack a two-roomed little hovel. The kitchen in one room, the bed crammed into the other. She roots around in his drawers until she manages to find a tunic, well maybe on him, it's a dress on her, and she belts it around her waist for a semblance of modesty, finding a pair of worn boots, a hole in the heel and far too big, but they'll have to do. She can't find a mirror, so she fills a washbasin waiting for it to still before dunking the blood coated parts of her hair into it, before scrubbing the rest of it from herself. As she waits for her hair to dry she hides her presence, throwing the water and vomit out the window, careful to put everything back just so. She's been careful to leave it messy like he had, the overturned furniture where it was, the table itself is splintered in two, and she's shocked to find herself uninjured. How that had happened she has no clue. Amaira pauses on the door's threshold, "I'm sorry," she whispers before darting out, dragging a blanket to hide her foot steps, as she crosses around the back of the house to bury the mess with more snow.

She just wants to go back to the forest, but the streets are crowded. It'd been a miracle no one had seen her leaving the hunter's little shack, but out here in the open it's much busier. There's a crowd pushing toward the center of town, taking her with it. She has no choice but to go with the flow after a few strange looks are thrown her way as she tries to escape the throng.

"What's going on anyway?" she calls, and the person nearest to her shoots her a look. "Haven't you heard lass? Jayden Bradley's in town. Reined in this morning."

Now Amaira really needs to be sick.

She's pushed right back to where she'd started yesterday, the people crowding around the inn, where Jayden Bradley sits astride a fine chestnut stallion, and Amaira silently begs the horse not to react to her. He pricks his ears initially towards her, but her plea soon sets him straight. A confused swish to his tail and a light prance before he settles under his rider's hand. She's largely tuned him out, but with the horse settled, she turns her attention back to the man, smiling, always smiling, in the saddle.

"So where is this great hunter then? I wish to meet him. Perhaps he can join my humble party seeking to rid the world of those bloodthirsty wretches that have claimed so much from me."

Great Hunter? Surely he doesn't mean-

He does. The crowd follows the Jayden parade down to the hunter's home where Jayden dismounts with the air of a prince, taking his crop under his arm and knocking on the door pleasantly. Rat tat ta-tat tat. There's no answer, and Jayden turns to the crowd with a wink and an indulgent grin,

"Kind sir, It's Jayden Bradley. So sorry to disturb you this fine morning, with a very noble on your doorstep, but fate has seen fit to grant you a lucky day."

Amaira muffles her snort, but the rest of the audience just looks entranced.

Jayden knocks again, smile wavering, "Sir?"

There's still no answer.

"Sir, are you alright?"

Alarmed whispers go up from the crowd, and Jayden and a few of his guard draw their swords.

"Sir I'm coming in."

Jayden, Amaira notes, is not the one to break the door. The men stride in, and Amaira's brought back to the present, guilt weighing heavy in her stomach.

"Foul beast!" Jayden cries, coming back out with the ravaged head. "Look, look what it's done!"

Shouts and screams go up from the crowd.

"This is no mere animal," Jayden spits, staring at the head. "It knew I was coming. Wanted to rub it right in my face." Jayden throws the head to the ground.

"All clear sir, no sign of the creature." One of his men comes out to join him on the step.

Jayden turns with a furious glare, running an exasperated hand through his hair.

"Well it can't just disappear!"

"The woods sir?"

"Look, look around you. Look at the tracks. Can see them coming clear as day, right up the doorstep, but look none leave, and yet no wolf."

"Magic!" someone shouts.

"Witchcraft!" calls another.

Amaira's knees are weak.

"Here's a clear one!"

Jayden shoves his way through the crowd, pushing the man through the crowd, staring down at the track before kicking snow over it with a roar.

"They're different! Not even the same. It's mocking me." Jayden's eyes are wild, and the people nearest him take a step back at his unhinged expression.

"Sir?"One of the guards calls cautiously.

"Oh don't you see!" Jayden flies forward getting in the guard's face, "It's changed." He whispers, a mad note to his voice, and Amaira shrinks back further in the crowd.

"No disrespect meant Mr. Bradley, but it's just an animal, it can't-"

"Oh this is no mere animal, Mr. Prescott." Jayden chuckles, "Oh no, we're dealing with something far more sinister. A curse perhaps, set on my family's house. A demon. A demon wolf. Born of storms and carried by the winds itself."

"What do we do?" someone cries, and Jayden's head snaps up.

"What do we do? What do we do? We hunt it of course! Kill the damn thing, and mount its head on my wall for all the realms to see. I've already dispatched word to the king. Ooh but this thing is clever," Jayden chuckles, "It's eluded me twice already. Need more men. Don't bother bringing the dogs they're useless, ghosts don't leave scents for them to follow. But eyes" Jayden points to his own, "Eyes see. Even the dead can't hide from a man's eye, not if they wish to walk this plane."

Amaira blinks at Jayden's statement because honestly, but a risky glance thrown his way reveals more than she cares. His usually immaculate dress is in disarray, mud on the toes of his boots. Oh he's put on a good effort, a show for the public, but the bruises under his eyes speak volumes. He's not sleeping, and it's driving him mad. And he was unstable enough to start. Amaira's about to slip away when the crowd surges forward at the command of, "Back to the inn!"

"Draw up parties there."

"The first man to find the beast gets 30 crowns!"

A cheer goes up at that, and then Amaira's dodging pushing hands and thrown elbows as she scrambles to stay far enough away from Jayden's eyes.

The crowd breaks off back in the center, Jayden's guards taking names and pulling lots, making up parties.

"You going to put your name in lass?" A gruff voice comes from behind her, and Amaira's eyes widen as she attempts to stutter a response, "I-I I don't know."

The man sneers down at her, and Amaira's never been more thankful for the too-big cloak to obscure her eyes, "Pretty thing you are, what you doing with a thing like that on?"

"I uh-"

"Oh get!" the man grumbles, "If you're not here to hunt go'n make yourself useful. Sew some cloaks, wash a man's boots, suck a cock or two if nothing else."

Amaira gasps at his crudeness, stumbling back from the crowd to the man and his buddies' guffaws. Sarah would be appalled. Amaira wanders to the side, gazing longingly at the forest beyond the inn.

"Get you anything else, Mr. Bradley?"

Amaira turns recognizing Hanna's breathy voice, seeing the ginger haired girl, leaning eagerly over a table, tray at her hip.

Jayden's answering chuckle makes her blood freeze.

"Not at the moment, but, ah, tell you what. You seem like a bright girl. You see anything interesting the past few days? Something unusual, out of the ordinary."

"Mmm not that I can think of," and she really should be a player with the way she crosses her arm to boost her chest, the other hand tapping thoughtfully at her lips.

"Any patrons of this fine establishment seem a bit...off?"

"Oh!"

Jayden leans forward with interest, "Yes?"

"Well it's nothing really, barely worth mentioning."

Jayden barely restrains his tone, words coming out icy smooth, "By all means darling, enlighten me."

"There was this one girl...some out of towner?"

"Yes" Jayden snaps, urging her to get to the point.

"Well she had the strangest eyes."

"What."

Amaira staggers back bumping into someone, who drops a tray with a clatter.

"Hey watch it!"

But Amaira doesn't bother apologizing, scrambling to her feet and running, ignoring the curious stares her way, disappearing into the woods.

There's motion behind her, echoing shouts, and Jayden must've bolted out of his chair after her. Amaira runs, tearing out of her clothes as she goes, praying she has enough magic left for one tiny little shift. She lets out a yell as the cloak catches on a branch, jerking her back.

"Come on, come on!" She yells tugging at the clasp, before giving up and ripping it altogether, jerking forward and catching herself with a hand to the frozen ground as she stays upright before she continues to run. The boots next, and she has no choice but to do an awkward hopping run, and holy fuck the ground is cold. She hears distant whistles, and dear god if they get the horses she's done for. Then she's yanking at the belt, tossing it behind, as she yanks the tunic over her head. And oh it is bitter cold out.

"Come on!" she grits her teeth as she runs, hands fisted at her sides. Pines, the wind in her fur, needles under her feet, breath steaming in the air.

A bird startles from a bush out in front of her, breaking her concentration as she swerves out of the way with a yell. The crow squawks a questioning note, and Amaira gets an idea.

"Warn them! Find the pack, the wolves! Tell them to run!"

The bird takes off, and oh Amaira would kill for its wings right now.

The warmth of a den, the sweet, lingering hunt song, the pups yips and growls as they play with an old bone.

Amaira bites her fist to stifle her scream as her spine gives a crack, her legs on fire, still letting out an agonized whine as she crashes to the ground. Only half of her is a wolf. Her skin is wrong, so wrong, eyes pinpricks as she gasps out her breath because they do not belong together. Her hands give a jerk, and Amaira presses her mouth to the snow to muffle her sob as claws spring from fingers. She doesn't have enough. She can't shift. There just isn't enough magic. The sounds are growing closer, pounding in her head, boom, boom, boom, and Amaira curls in on herself as another ripple racks her body. She can't do it. It hurts so much. And then there's a burst of motion in front of her, Amaira dazedly looking up to see Bane snapping viciously at a crow, darting at his face.

"Would you cut that out!" he snaps, lunging for a final time at the bird, who flaps away with an irritated squawk.

"Bane, you have to run." Amaira croaks out, wincing as her spine twists again, she's losing ground not gaining it, skin inching back along her back.

"You don't look so good kid."

"No shit."

"It's actually kind of sickening to look at."

"Oh I'm so sor-hngh" Amaira contorts again, and Bane draws back his head with a wrinkled nose.

"Can't you do something?"

"Oh, I never thought of that," she spits.

"They're coming," Bane whines anxiously.

"Why I sent the bird," she pants, "What are you doing here, didn't he give you the message?"

"Oh I got it," Bane pads up to her, "Pack doesn't leave pack."

Amaira rolls her eyes, "Now is not the time. They have bows. They will shoot you."

"Isn't there anything-"

"No Bane. Just go!"

The great wolf whines, licking his lips anxiously, "Is this goodbye, then pup?"

"Suppose so," Amaira winces, "Thank you though, really."

Bane whines, pressing his nose to her forehead.

And apparently that's the push she needed because suddenly she's a wolf, panting at his feet.

"Did you do that just for dramatic effect?"

"How do you even know what that is?" Amaira stares at him.

There's a sharp whistle behind them, "Oh nevermind, RUN!"

They miss Jayden swinging off his horse, lifting up the belt and tunic. He looks off into the trees ahead, smiling thinly, "Hello there dove."

Author's Note:

Happy holidays!

Thanks for reading,

~TheSparkedInfinity