Word Count: 400+
Haha! So many probelms for both our gals. XD
You might've already seen this before, but I'll explain it anyways to avoid any possible confusion. Cuhlain is a figment of Finn's imagination. She can hear him talking and see him, but no one else can.
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Her head was full of phantoms, so she ran. Her long legs carried her quickly, and though she stumbled on loose rocks or branches, she always regained her balance, moving gracefully despite her near unhinged mental state. Cuhlain followed behind, ghostly as ever, smiling and flashing those pale blue eyes at her. His fangs looked longer than her claws, and his strides were long and easy. What’s the matter, son? Can’t keep up? He said, breezing past her on the trail and trying to cut her off. Finn turned, nearly braining herself on the trunk of a tree.
”I am not your son.” She said through gritted teeth. Her throat was raw and she was dead tired, she had been running for what seemed like hours. Eventually her strength would give out and she would sink into the deepest sleep possible. Right now, dreaming was the last thing she wanted. Darting through the trees at a breakneck pace, Cuhlain snapping at her heels, she almost did not notice the large canine on the path. Finn barrelled down, eyes widening in horror as she realized what was in her way, and leaped sailing over the back of the wolf.
Landing with a bone shaking thud, she turned, regarding the other with wide eyes. ”Hi.” She said, panting and gasping for breath. She heard Cuhlain snort disdainfully. Huh, a coyote. I used to eat those for breakfast.” ”Shut up, shut up!” Finn whispered at him, shuddering. She didn’t want to think about blood right now, or bones, or bodies. She just wanted rest or peace of mind or death. Whichever came first. Against all better judgement, knowing full well that it might be easier to just turn and keep running, Finn summoned up a smile from the reserves she had kept locked tight within her souls.
It was a sad smile, a weary smile, and entirely too jaded. But it was been the first one in days, and already she felt a little better. As the terror began to abate, Finn's curiosity grew. This coyote was scarred, just like her. She looked to be a fine warrior, and the grey she-wolf could never not appreciate that. The hatred her father had felt for coyotes had not transferred itself to Finn, and despite Cuhlain’s muttered insults, she found herself relaxing. She sat, and though still alert, did not find the need to glance over her shoulder every couple seconds. ”Rough day.” She explained weakly, the smile growing a little wider.