For a moment she only stared at the stranger before her, then slowly shook her head, pinching her eyes shut as though she could shake off some terrible gremlin. He must be old, obviously he had barely survived the wilds judging by his injured leg and his scars, his torn ear. Odd that such a man, so large and assumingly capable of holding his own in a fight, would have been so injured by the world. Titania didn’t know that this was all the result of his enslavement. Titania didn’t even know that there was a pack in the region that kept slaves… in fact, she didn’t know of any pack in the area. She didn’t even know that she was Titania.
Opening her eyes again, she met his gaze, confusion wrought on her mien. “You can’t be my father, I’ve never seen you before in my life.” She said as though that was plain as day, and as though he should have known that. “You’ve got me mistaken for somebody else. I’m… I’m…”
She stopped, her clouded mind searching for an explanation that wasn’t there. How could she explain that she wasn’t his daughter when she didn’t know whose daughter she was? Tilting her head, she shook her head again, this time more gently, and then tilted her head to the side when she asked, “What was that name you called me?”
Her eyes scanned him over again, looking him up and down. Could he be her father? No, that was stupid, she would know who her father was. Only… she didn’t. She couldn’t tell him he was wrong because she couldn’t tell him who her father was… or her mother, for that matter… or… anyone…
Her heart began to race. A moment ago, before the stranger arrived, she was just uncertain where she was, she wasn’t thinking about other facets of her history so she didn’t know that she couldn’t remember them, but now the wanderer had slapped her in the face with it all. Panic was starting to set in. Her legs began to tremble so she lowered onto her rump and sat so she wouldn’t sway and fall. Her eyes turned to the pond again and she wondered if the rippled reflection she saw there really held any resemblance to the man, or if she was just imagining it.
That was when a soft breeze blew through the trees. The leaves overhead rustled, and above the canopy it was a gust, but down on the forest floor it was a slight draft, but enough to carry his scent to her. When her nose caught the scent she jerked her gaze back to him. Her memories… all of her memories… were gone… but the sense of smell was the strongest sense tied to memory, and within that scent there was the tiniest spark of recognition.
She cocked her head aside and narrowed her eyes, then stood up and slowly, gingerly, padded over the moss toward him. “F… father? I don't... remember. But you're... familiar.”
Table by the Mentors!
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