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She hated summer.
She hated the way the bugs itched and her skin got sweaty. How fifteen minutes in the sun would have her in agony for the next week. How the bugs never shut up, even at night.
She hated the severe lack of amenities in this period that would have made it bearable. Items sorely not afforded to her that would ease her suffering
There was a madness to summer-time that sometimes made her regret everything.
And yet...
She loved the long days and warm nights. She loved the cool mountain water that roared over the falls near her home before flowing gracefully onward on its own journey. She loved the fireflies that danced in the meadows over the wildflowers freshly blooming.
She loved the sound of the pack, her pack, sleeping peacefully in the den as they surrounded her and the male that slept beside her most nights. And the other nights when hey were off chasing their shadows, His fast legs carrying her over leagues in moments measured in heartbeats. When He would set her on the grass and look up at the stars with her. The stars were different in this time and she listened gladly to His stories of how these new-old constellations got their names, His head on her lap while she sits with her legs stretched out before them, fingers brushing idly through His dark hair.
Her own hair is longer now. And according to the seasons it had been two years since she had decided to stay with Him and the pack.
Their pack.
Sometimes she thinks about silver hair and amber eyes, and what had become of his quest for shards. She heard his sword had gotten pretty powerful and his companions fierce.
Fleeting thoughts.
When they return to the dens at their leisure, the pack comes to greet them. She laughs and laughs and laughs, shoving their happy faces away half-heartedly. She adores them and their antics and loves when they call her 'sister', though for a moment she is sad; Someone else once called her 'sister'. In another age.
Another time.
What is he doing now? Where will his life take him? Is he still in school? Please stay in school so you can take care of the others the way that I cannot, she pleads. To whom, she does not know. But she hopes that somewhere, her thoughts of Them are heard.
Of course, she had tried the well. Many times. But for whatever reason it remained closed to her. Did she fail? Did leaving the others seal her fate? He had given her His shards to try when her tears became too much and her begging threatened to break His heart. When her fingers, bloody from digging the earth, had dug into His skin in a desperate attempt to please please please, try once more.
But no matter what, it did not work; whatever power that had brought her here had deemed her to stay here. She had abandoned her task and thus, the well had abandoned her.
And she was happy, really. Now. The pack had become family and He had become hers as much as she had already been His. After a time.
His brash, forward manner had taken some time to get used to, as had the lack of clothing; The Wolves were not shy with their bodies, donning pelts and armor only when absolutely necessary. On the day that she finally decided to embrace the sunshine on Her bare skin, Her nakedness was met only with encouraging smiles and head bobs.
Though, come to think of it, He might have had something to do with that.
She shakes her head and follows Him into the den, answering questions and carefully stepping around the pups gathered around her legs, chubby arms reaching up up up to be held. Their parents were around, sure, and most likely watching, but the young belong to all of them.
It takes a village.
They have no young of their own. He tells her there's no rush, that there are plenty of others to do that in the meantime. Not until she's ready. They have all the time.
And she is grateful.
Night time among the pack is a savage and wild thing, much like themselves. Fires lit and food prepared. Raw meat still is not something she can get used to and she was glad that no one judges her for her dull human teeth and weak stomach when several Wolves themselves also seemed to have a preference for at least singed meat.
Most nights there is dancing. He pulls her in-now willingly- and she loses herself with the rest of the bodies as they writhe and weave to drum patterns as wild as they were that set her heart and feet racing. Her voice joins theirs as they raise them in exultation and He looks at her with pride.
Those nights are her favorite. When they collapse together into a nest made of the softest furs, laughing breathlessly. He cradles her head in His lap. Happy sighs as she buries her nose in the furred wrap around His waist. When she looks up, He kisses her, and it is like honey made where things grow wild. Warmth like the late sun spreads through her body as her toes curl into the soft fur of the skins surrounding them.
Sometimes she stays awake, long after the fires have ebbed and the pack is quiet, save for the odd growls and scattered laughter of late night conversations. Beside her, He sleeps. His legs askew and twitching slightly as He chases something in dreams. When He begins to whimper and growl, she knows the hunt is on in earnest. She carefully brushes thick dark hair from his forehead and hopes He catches it.
Fireflies skim the grasses outside as other insects chirrup their songs. A warm breeze brings the sweet scent of wildflowers the color of His eyes. She closes Hers and breathes deeply.
She loves summer.
