woof. [Ida/Athame]

[Sheera]

Gnawing on a particularly large bone, that of a deer, most likely, a female rested in the shadows of a young maple tree. She was an average-sized she-wolf; her build not too largely constructed nor too small. Lean and toned, signs of a skilled hunter, the loner seemed to live a well-provided life. Her fur was that of a dark red, brighter reds dying her legs and the majority of her snout. The lining of her big, satellite-like ears also shared this brighter red coloring.
Leaving the bone to rest on the earth before her, Idalia pushed herself up to a sitting position, staring out into the midday sunlight, sadness swimming in her sapphire eyes. Her life has burned bright then sizzled to a mere, pointless flame. Memories of her position as Mephisto's, that dirty bastard, darling little trapping artist stung her heart as she remembered the postpartum depression that followed her own rape and birth of his demon children. She hadn't once wondered where those bitches had gone before now. Maybe they were continuing his little line of business. Lupus knows this world is bound to be overrun by little carbon copies of that beast.
Her heart stumbled over itself as she recalled the one time she gave love a chance... she had fallen so quickly then, suddenly, pushed that love away as she hid in the shadows, cowering at the very thought of Mephisto.
"Athame," she sighed, her eyes glistening with tears, "I pushed you away because I was weak... I could not comprehend the true meaning of love and I could not let myself let someone else make my heart so vulnerable..." her voice grew softer as she said this, her eyes distant, staring out at the horizon.

[.Rabid Lycan.]

Noon spread gently across the exposed meadow, the thin skin of sunlight basking the entire field in a golden haze. Several towering trees distorted the otherwise smooth pastures, the brick pattern of bark shimmering in the peaceful glow. Overhead, a myriad of green shuddered in the faint breeze, the gusts playfully tugging at stray branches and aged leaves. Eventually, a select few wandered from their perches high above, and spiraled to the earth below. One particular leaf straddled the crest of a traveler’s spine, clinging to his ebony locks. After a moment, the lonely creature shuddered, ridding himself of the debris.
Another day, right?
The words carried little comfort, and yet he was not despairing. As recluse and pessimistic though he was, the male breathed free air. No shackles or requirements or flickers of deceit. No, just the scent of personal liberty to guide him onward.
As cliché as this afternoon is, it could be worse. It could be more interesting than I can handle… the Cult type of interesting.
Unaware of the fellow creature sharing the daylight with him, Athame wandered along his path, seizing the opportunity to track the aroma of hare that crossed his way.
But, then again, it would be nice to have someone to share this with…

[Sheera]

You let yourself get carried away.
Don't act like you're ashamed.
You let yourself get carried away.
Bow your head, now, accept the blame.
You let yourself get carried away.
Bury this with you; a waste.

Trickery, deception, malicious craftiness; the she-wolf's ears swiveled backwards, remorse crawling through her fur and gnawing at her bones. Wanting to take all her regrets and pin them on the devilish brute in which she had served for many, many moons, she winced as she came to the realization, as she had many times before, that the only wolf to be blamed for such treachery was herself. For the shit loads of she-wolves she had led onto his lusty shaft, Ida had felt not one twitch of shame or empathy towards the victims, that is, before she was dubbed as one of them.
A mechanical heart, a soul with no remorse... how could I take such cold pleasure in the victimizing of others? How could I feel so secure prancing around the Earth luring in innocence to Mephisto with charm or provocation? her thoughts only helped to worsen her feelings of loathing towards herself and her crime.
"What a humiliation... what a scandal... what a disgrace... what a--" her own words of self-hate were cut short as a scent refocused her dazed eyes.
The scent was instantly familiar as her eyes probed the surrounding area for the wolf, landing quickly on his unaware being.
A second chance? For me? A ray of sunshine, brighter than the thousands warming the earth around her? A criminal receiving such fair treatment from Eternal Twilight?
"Athame..." her voice was faint as nervousness rose up in her chest.

[.Rabid Lycan.]

What of all the wolves I’ve encountered? So many terrible, terrible faces… and yet, there were kinder ones, too. Fate, Ida… Ida. I wonder where you’ve fled off to? If all is well, maybe you’ve escaped this world and its harshness—or better yet, found your place in it. Maybe you even have a family of your own, now…
Clinging to some distant notion of eventual satisfaction, Athame dragged himself out of his reverie. Or to the best of his ability, in the least. Vague thoughts liquefied into vague outlines of thoughts, and his consciousness sharpened on the task ahead. Perpetuating the blood circulation, the breathing organs—just lengthening that perception of being alive.
Nostalgic despair shrouded him, fogging his concentration. The prey scent, so clear moments prior, was skewed by some invisible force. Even as he crouched and steadied his gaze on the victim in the brush, an instinctive longing left him breathless with apathy.
And if I catch this meal? He had been branded by the Cult, no matter how thin its physical residue. The scent had thinned, and the characteristic scars and demeanor had lost its articulation. And yet, he was forever marred, haunted by his former self. Once an assassin, always an assassin. I can’t change what I’ve done… and the time I’ve lost… what’s one rabbit going to make the difference?
He stared, almost lazily, at the creature as it shuffled about, tensing occasionally as they often did. But, all at once, it bolted. Athame perked his ears. I didn’t do that. Slowly, he straightened his posture, and a ghost of a scent was delivered to his nostrils.
I must be dreaming.

[Sheera]

Wishing you were, somehow, here, again; wishing you were, somehow, near. Sometimes it seemed if I just dreamed, somehow, you would be here. Wishing I could hear your voice again; knowing that I never would.

Satellites swiveled forward once more, crystal eyes pasted to the being before her, an awed she-wolf pushed herself to all fours, standing in a tensed, unsure stance. Not even a quiver of muscle disturbed this stilled statue, only the wind ruffling her crimson fur, ever-so-slightly. Her eyes were but frozen pools of disbelief, never straying from the life before her as if he might crumble away and vanish the millisecond her eyes glance in another direction or blink, for that matter.
Breaking the stillness, like a ripple in a pond, her nose fidgeted, taking in the scent, gladly, her ear twitched, taking in the sounds of wind brushing against grass to the side of her, and her crystalline orbs shattered as she blinked; life began to flood her veins, loosening her joints, screaming at her to rush to Athame, greet him, apologize, relive the only innocence in her past.
"Athame..." she called, louder now, as the initial shock stopped stealing her voice, "Athame!" she barked, louder still.

[.Rabid Lycan.]

That voice. That angelic symphony of the tongue, that crescendo of vocals summarized in but a single word. Furthermore, a name. His name.
Even the wind could not be that cruel.
His structure reeled to face her, instantly recognizing the scent as pure, undiluted reality, and not an apparition. For once. Hardly able to convince his jaws to function, his orbs could only swell in a newfound brightness. He took several steps in her direction, the gait labored by anxiety and overall disbelief.
The distance withered between them, and Athame soon stood before her. A small smile absorbed his features, and he lacked the desire to speak her name aloud. His eyes spoke all the necessities, and he knew full well the identity of the beautiful aura in his meadow.

[Sheera]

Too long, too long it had taken for him to stand before her; not only his slowed pace was she referring to, no, it had taken the countless moons of her hiding from her own shadow, fearful of a certain brute. As he took the final steps to finally be within breathing distance, Ida's paws retorted as she forced them to stay planted in the ground instead of taking two last steps to allow her to press her crimson-colored face into his ebony chest, lovingly welcoming him back into her pitiful existence, happily taking in his scent.
Her eyes glistened, reflecting his expression back to him, taking in his bliss newly found upon seeing her; could someone had missed her as she had missed them? Is it possible that her life was about to sprout new meaning or was she forever to be a pitiful coward, loveless at best?
"I... Athame, I'm... I was a coward; I'm sorry," her voice was dim, breathless, her eyes searching his, glittering with genuine concern. She had pushed away their chances at love as she had ran from her consequences and cowered at the ruffling of an oak leaf. Her eyes were a potion of concern, apologies, and, most of all, a kind of disbelieving bliss.