Souls sometimes die within a person . . .

The stretch of time that bridged between Lyudmila’s life in Crith Thalmhainn and her life in Uyaraut existed as a knot of fuzzy cobwebs in the girl’s skull. At some point, the feisty pup and her small family - mother and siblings - traded their land of red rock and blue sky for one of black cliffs and a glittering ocean. Any precise details of their travel, for they’d surely traveled quite far, had been lost to the cracks in her mind, slipping into the abyss like needles through spaces in old floorboards. She couldn’t say how they’d left Crith, which clandestine paths they had taken out of their beautiful desert landscape and into the foothills below; somehow her young legs had carried her beyond vast plains of grass and toward a beach without even a single solid memory forming between pawsteps. It must have been the shock that robbed Lyudmila of her consciousness. Mentally, the pale girl had been frozen solid. Rigid. Numb. Her responses whittled down to the barest reflexes, brain more focused on protecting her from panic than on taking snapshots of her surroundings. Eventually, Mila woke up and recognized the den she now slept in as “hers.” After a jarring period that left her sick to her stomach, she got it. No more did she and Nimueh slumber in a bowl of soft red dust, with tall cacti poking the belly of the night sky. Now Lyudmila was a member of the ocean pack, Blossom Forest’s Diamond in the Rough.

This was all well and fine. Mila liked living by the ocean. What sucked was that even though she hardly recalled her journey here, she still remembered the attack in Crith vividly. With excruciating detail, down to every speck of crimson dirt on her claws. Although the horrendous wounds she’d received from Sindicate himself had healed into near invisibility, the scars of rage and terror the ugly bastard raked into her psyche felt as fresh and as sharp as the second his fangs forked her flesh.

That morning, Lyudmila had woken up screaming. Typical. Nightmares of turquoise eyes and savage teeth devoured her pleasant dreams and wrenched her back wailing into reality, every snowy hair on her pelt sticking straight up. Almost immediately, her frightened cries deepened into furious snarls. Really? Again?! No wonder her siblings refused to share a den with her . . . the inner walls of her chambers bore harsh, deep marks from where her talons had slashed the earth in her sleep. Moisture still leaked from her ice-colored eyes, which she wiped hastily away before standing up and shaking out her pelt. This was some serious bullshit. And yeah, Lyudmila knew she was only supposed to swear when she truly needed to - but still. Desperately needing air, the lithe young lass charged out into the open air outside her threshold. Brisk winter air obliterated any lingering sluggishness in her limbs and mind. She sucked in the cold, the frost, toes pressing into the hard earth under her paws. A run along the beach - that should do the trick to clear her cranium of his stupid, terrible face. Sure.

Brittle grass crinkled with each bold stride she took. Soon dirt was replaced by dark rock, and dark rock was replaced by sand; Lyudmila sent out a happy song toward the slate-grey waves as they rolled inward, tail wagging as salty spray freckled her face. From nose to toes, Mila wore the same spotless alabaster as her sire . . . but upon her eyes she donned a flame-colored masquerade mask, a deep russet that made her pure white pools all the more striking. When snowflakes began tumbling from the milky sky to alight upon her nose, the damsel could only laugh.

Galloping near the surf never failed to lift her spirit. She felt grateful for the frigid breeze slicking over her fur; it helped lift some of the heat from her working muscles. Lyudmila could have run herself into a frenzy were it not for an extremely . . . blue object reposed up ahead. Blue and . . . pink? Purple? Teal? Her graceful motions slowed into a steady trot as her thoughts attempted to wrap around the reality of an unnaturally colored wolf just laying there in the sand like it was nothing. He just. Was there. And he was blue, like the morning sky, or the petals of a flower. And Lyudmila KNEW he was real because she could hear the low sound of his voice carrying over the ocean’s rush, and she saw the smoke of his breath gathering in front of his muzzle. Worried she’d scare him off, Mila halted yards away, head tilted curiously. Then she inhaled and shouted as loud as she could to get his attention. “HEY. YOU OVER THERE. WHY ARE YOU ALL THOSE COLORS?”

. . . and are replaced by others.

Kershov x Nimueh | Heiress of Crith Thalmhainn | No love | xathira