Staying home, staying within the confines of the pack of her uncle was not something she did for most of her time. There was nothing, other than family, other than blood and heritage and magic, that tied her there. Her magic told her that she belonged there, that it was where she was meant to be, but after her transformation into an Oferweder, Qiturah had found herself questioning everything. Was she drawn to Dierne Hrof because she was born there, because she had family there, because it was her house, her home, where she actually wanted to spend her time? Or was she drawn there because of the high quantities of the rainbow colored Arcus Irae that resided there? Qiturah had managed, up until this point, to avoid the beautiful and fragile beings – afraid of bonding with one of them. She was afraid of anything that threatened to take away her freedom, anything that threatened to force her decision in any of her choices. Free will – it was all she wanted for herself, and yet the one thing that would always be just outside her grasp unless she managed to avoid every other single wolf.
But although she feared the chains upon her, she was not stupid – if she lived like that, she would be lonely and alone for the rest of… well… forever. And so a few weeks ago, as soon as the page of the seasons had flipped, from autumn to fall, she had stopped avoiding the others of the world. And yet, as fate would have it, as soon as she had stopped sidestepping any cracked twig or fresh path, none had found her… until tonight. She had trotted down the edge of the beach by moonlights, watching as the waves of the water dampened the thin layer of frost and snow and melted it away to nothing. But any time when she stopped and paused long enough to glance back behind her, already the delicate doilie lacework was etching itself back along, the frigid bite of winter knowing no bounds. But she pauses when the bright glare of the moon is darkened by a figure upon a boulder by the shore. But in the next second, he had leapt off, stumbling quite ungracefully and she had had to stifle a laugh – as sleek and smooth as his pelt had appeared before, it was roughened, messed. He spat out grains and gravels of sand, and then rose and started walking – only he was walking away from her – he hadn’t seen her not yet. She still had ample time to run, if that was her decision… and yet she didn’t. Well, she did – only not away from him.
Toward him.
“Hey, you! Everything alright?”
She fears that he will bond with her soul, that he will be the one that destiny had decided to weave her fate together with. When would she know if they were to be bonded? Twenty feet away? Five feet away? Within a second? A minute? When she caught onto his sight? Qiturah had no idea… but she would find out at some point.
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