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Strange that such a creature as Amalthea would find her way to a land where others roamed freely without the thought or care of danger to cloud their naïve minds with the constant reminder of death. Curious that such a creature as she would willingly walk near them, though not exactly in their sights. She was as sunlight is through tree branches. A glimmer of mystery that is hard to describe when one is attempting to put into words the delicacy of ice. Hard to spot, though not exactly difficult to see. She had never been outside of her forest. She had never set foot on land that had not yet been tread by her pads. And leaving her forest was the most difficult and heartbreaking thing she had ever done. But the flames had consumed all life within that one and though she had done all she could to keep the heat from reaching her precious land, she had not been able to elude its wrath nor escape its greedy fingers. No… Amalthea had been forced to watch as her birthplace, the only home she knew, crumbled into ash. But she did not linger too long on it. For it is not wise to linger in the graveyard of that which once brought joy. Which once held youth and vigor. Dark things come to those who feel regret and remorse. And dark things would come to Amalthea if she allowed them to. So she left. She had never been allowed the sight of her own kind before, and having been raised with but the woods, she knew not of her species, nor their strange customs.
Perhaps that is why shy, elusive and quiet Amalthea ventured past a territory mark without even stopping to think about why the scent was so strong there. The faerie had but the slightest idea about its meaning, guessing that it was only another sign that a wolf passed by. Multiple times. And thus her white stilts carried her into the winter-sewn land, old leaves crackling into harmless shards of matter under her pleasant weight. But she was not in the open for long. She had paused before the tree line, turning her head slowly this way, then that, and finally slinking into the sunlit portion of the grounds. As soon as she was able, she slid back into the treeline, all but disappearing amongst the landscape. Putting sights on the lovely miss would be a mistake in and of itself no matter which way one tried to look through the glass. Fog was more approachable than she was. For having been alone her entire short existence, she stayed to herself. After all, is it not a wise thought when one is cautious of things they are not familiar with? Wide eyed but not quite open this one was. Wrapped up in the perfect sort of enigma that would have others peering over their shoulders to try and catch a glimpse of. One might even compare her to a doe who has never left her home meadow. A child who has never been allowed a glance at the world past a fogged window. Even glass was more apparent than she. Though suddenly the girl stopped, white fur parted and pieced from a recent ice storm that grappled with her ability to survive without the woods to lean against for at least a touch of protection. The hair there on her scruff flattened as her head turned, light lilac portals widening considerably as the sound of other vargs crept through her eaves.
She bolted instantly. Not a moment of hesitation after her domes caught the sound did she wait. Her pillars dug into the frost-filtered blades of dead or dying grass, throwing chunks of snow, ice, dirt and whatever else happened to slide under her paws into the atmosphere behind her wake. She did not want to come across anyone. For a loner she had been born, and a loner she would remain. Behind her, the sound of others touched her heart as a sickness does. They were far away. They were not in this landscape that she had stumbled into. But the sound of their breaths carried across the gales. And this was her second mistake—the first being her entering a land she did not know the meaning of the reason as to why there so many scent markings… and now, her second. Having spread her wings to fly through the pines in a frenzy to escape what didn’t need heeding to. In her haste, she stepped wrong and her ankle gave out, sending her to the dirt as fast as gravity could collect her. Her shoulder slammed heartily into the earth, colliding with a deafening hit that almost swept her breath right out of her lungs. Amalthea screamed, though she did not know it. Panic kicked her in the gut and she twisted, attempting to stand back up on the leg that was now rendered useless. The maiden flipped onto her stomach and held her head low, ears pricked and listening with death on the mind. Injured and terrified of the strangeness she had come into, her breathing hollowed out, becoming shallow and scarce. But she quieted when strange sounds tickled her auds. She was a sitting duck, so to speak. Her ankle sprained or broken, her shoulder displaced and a ugly heaping scathe dragging along the skin just above that same bone.
And what of her placement? Where was she? Were there others closeby? If there were… she would most likely panic further and take off, which would result in further bodily harm. The princess’s sides heaved with enormous effort, smoke billowing out of her barely parted mug as she took in the frostbitten air. She should have never left the remains of her forest… She should have perished along with it instead.
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lady amalthea
darling femme x young adult x pearl finish x lilac dreamers x without home x without love
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