did I s a v e you?

She can feel his warm, damp breath against the shredded flesh of her skin now - her beautiful locks now mangled and blanketed by rich and hot crimson. His exhalation causes a violent chill to seize her frail body, and with this subtle yet sudden spasm, her form is tensing in protest against the instantaneous pain. Then the chill has passed, and the heaviness of his breath grows absent as she lays, crumpled, on the dirt floor. Go, go now. Get away while he is busy - because he will be back. Her mind roars these commands at her as soft hues of coral flicker beneath heavy eyelids.

A weak necks lifts to raise an unevenly balance crown - and she sees him there somewhere in the distance. Run! - the instinct deep within her cranium demands, and the broken girl begins to pull her butchered body away from the earth, incisors clenched in pain and desperation to remain silent and talons digging into the flesh of the ground for some sort of balance. Her steps are slow at first, uneasy as she tests her weight on damaged appendages. But once she is sure that her weight will hold, she is off full-speed.

It is only after she has gained some distance from the dark, dominating male that she hears his cruel vocals cut through the air.

She feels the same damp breath against her ruff now, though months later. She is miles away from him, and away from home - and she liked to believe that there was no way that he or them or any other lupine would ever find her here. . . but that simply wasn’t true, and the possibility that she would be discovered haunted her every day since her departure - including in this very moment.

Her delicate crown snaps to peer across a slim shoulder after every few steps, the cream and ivory vixen cautious and careful to observe all of her surroundings. She is weak from travel, however, and her muscles scream in objection to each following and agonizing movement. She needs to stop, to eat, to simply rest . . . but she cannot help but to feel that damn breath against her nape - reminding her every second of what she is running from.

Instinct drives her towards the soothing sound of rushing water, and relief floods her once her coral hues lay sight on the flowing liquid. She chooses to linger away from the mother river, and instead, chooses to stick to one of the smaller branches, bringing her careful-sculpted maw down and allowing the cool water to invade her raw, parched throat.

Even a matter of seconds can make a difference, it seems - for then she feels it again . . . that someone is nearing and that eyes are on her. Before, though, it was just paranoia that kept creeping into her veins . . . but her coral eyes are widened in unanticipated surprise when she hears the snap of a twig behind her, and her cranium quickly sweeps around to catch sight of the stranger. “Who . . . are you?”

female .x. young adult .x. no home .x. no heart .x. controlled by peaches