Time heals all wounds. I don’t know where I had ever heard such a statement but it had stuck with me for the last several years. I suppose, in a way, I had healed a bit, but there was just too much broken to ever full go back to normal. The feeling inside of me, that frightening fury, it wouldn’t go away. At times I had a mean streak so wide, I hunted down prey just for the killing. Afterwards I always felt sick to my stomach. I remember cornering a frightening rabbit, it’s heartbeat like rain patter in my ears. The crunch of it’s tender bones beneath my broad jaw, the way it had squealed one last time. I had retched afterwards, unable to stomach eating it, the taste of it’s fear so strong that it permeated my soul. I hadn’t meant to do it. Not really. I didn’t want to kill for the sake of killing.

I wasn’t like HIM. I wasn’t like THEM.

Yet, wasn’t I? His taint still clung to me after all these years. I had distanced myself from my family, from the hatefulness that grew inside of me. Some days I was fine. Other days I hated the sight of myself. Still others, the sight of everything around me. I was wrong. I was a cancer that would eat and consume my family if I came back.

Better they thought me a traitor. A coward. I was afraid that one day I might turn on them in a fit of rage if I went back. So I learned the art of avoiding them. I never left Molodian but they never needed to know that. I just got really good and covering my scent; when I was near the moors, I bathed in the stinky sludge until it dried, caked to me. I wonder if anyone saw me that had known my grandmother.. if they might think they saw a ghost. I looked like her a lot, that is what mother had once said. Broad, beastly, my markings similar but different.

I never stayed in an area for long but I did stay away from the packs as much as I could, except for Iromar. It drew me to it’s borders frequently, the smell of death and rot and the past consuming me. I couldn’t be free of it. I wondered if I might find my grandmother’s bones there one day, a reminder of my heritage. She had been a survivor. She had taken over for a wicked wolf, but I had heard she had cared for him, been loyal. Did that make her sick like me?

I avoided everyone like the plague and I became good at it. The sneaking, the subterfuge; I learned the art of stillness, of stalking. I avoided everything. But now, as I stand beneath the boughs of the woodland with my heart hammering, the distant sound of a howl making my fur stand on end, I feel it.

A spark in me that rekindles. A fear and a fascination, two separate entities yanking me in different directions. The spark… it brings with it memories of her. The fear… memories of him. I swear I heard his voice scream out along the forest, demanding attention. Was he back?

And her…. She was nearby. I had tried to avoid Reine. I had done so good at snuffing out the need to be near her that I had almost forgotten about her. It was better that way. But now… if HE was back, then I had to go to her – I had to get her to safety. Everything he touched, he poisoned.

So, after years of solitude, I began to race. Raced against time, destiny – raced to destiny.

I found her laying on the ground, my thundering paws making more racket than I had in years, my breaths labored, eyes flashing. Fire ran in my family – mother had called us her embers as pups. I jolt to a stop an inch from toppling over her, staring down, my fur covered in twigs, leaves, dried dirt. My scent was faint in the mess. ”Reine!” My voice had deepened, turning coarse and scratchy. ”Get up, now. We have to go.” It was probably not the reunion she had ever envisioned, but I wouldn’t be deterred, lowering my head and pushing my thick muzzle into her shoulder in an unforgiving nudge. ”Hurry!” I barked, demanding.