fiammetta
by fire be purged
Fiam's paws beat a heavy tattoo on the earth as she paced, her mind whirring almost as fast as her pawsteps. Each thud of pad on earth bore with it a tidal wave of thoughts and emotions that crashed over the white female afresh, only for them to fade as she left them behind, pressed into the dirt. Perhaps not the most original of coping mechanisms, the constant motion served to keep Fiam grounded so that she didn't lose herself in the proximity of the scents of her most hated enemies. Time had not afforded Jaylah much in the ways of wisdom and patience, but it had dealt with her granddaughter much more severely and, as such, Fiam exercised more control than Jaylah ever had. The future would tell if such attributes made any difference whatsoever.
A sudden noise to her left brought Fiammetta out of her reverie, and she jerked her head sharply so as to look across the border with her remaining good eye. At first, she spied nothing of interest and chided herself for an over-active imagination as a result of her circumstances, but then something broke out of the cover of the trees and bore towards her at an alarming rate. She narrowed her fiery orb against the sun's glare, still strong despite winter's rapid onset, in an attempt to make out who approached her. Naturally, her tail arched across her back and her hackles stood to attention, but she was too surprised to react in any other manner, until recognition slammed into her like a boulder.
Fiam's first instinct was to run. Run away, far away to avoid the confrontation that must be coming, and yet she could not. To run would be to embrace cowardice, to ignore the tugging she felt in her heart and turn her back on her destiny. This, of course, she could not do, and so she stood her ground, although her being drooped miserably, a flower wilting beneath an unrelenting sun. Atlas paused just outside the border, his body straining to pull him across, and yet it was the quizzical expression in his eyes that brought the white female towards him. She too kept her paws firmly on her side of the scent line, although her pelt itched to cross, to feel the warmth and comfort she had that night so long ago after Tobias' devil imprint had maimed her. A single word dripped from his lips, her name, although he said it not with longing but with accusation. Fiammetta drew back from him suddenly, her expression desperate, tail held between her legs as though she flinched from a blow.
When she replied her voice was taut and every muscle was held stiffly, defensively beneath her pelt. It did not occur to her that she had misread his cues as blame for her failure, instead of a mere misconception on his part, “It is true. I am a failure. I was not strong enough to defeat him, and now I must serve my sentence although it pains me to do so. But how can you blame me? How can you look at me with such vehemence? I will yet reek my revenge, and I don't need you at my side to do it.”
Her words were vicious and terrible, spiked with barbs of hurt as she drew further away from the two-toned male. She could not understand why he watched her with such a dark emotion clouding his eyes, and naturally assumed that he judged her because she had not been strong enough to vanquish their enemy. Well, where was he when Tobias had approached her, intent on tasting her blood? Where was he when she had been brought to Asteraia in chains? Where was he when she had needed him most? He had promised to have her back, to travel with her and fight with her, and he hadn't been there. Hadn't been there to lick her wounds or encourage her to try again. She fixed him beneath her gaze like an insect beneath a pin, reminding him that she was not to be trifled with even as she regained her composure.
In an effort to make up for her earlier, emotional reception of him, she stiffly queried, “What are you doing here?”
No Home - No Family - 5YO - 28 in, 32 lbs