[/html]The smell of peppermint and sea-salt tickled her nose as a wayward breeze brushed past her. In the back of her mind, she felt a prickle of uncertainty, and guilt. While she looked forward to see the sun-kissed boy--maybe she was being too eager, the way her pace increased when she knew she was getting nearer to his land--the identity she presented herself with ate at her like nothing else. No, this wasn't Harrow of Salsola taking another routine visit to the south to look for useful baubles. This was Nahyt, a girl from whatever place, where from it did not matter, always bearing the scent of fresh mint when she goes to him. Harrow held little regard for the others that were not privileged enough for her pack, thus deemed unworthy, an undesirable incapable of loving no one but her family. Nahyt was nearly head over heels for a boy that just seemed to understood her, somehow evading through the defenses she had set up and striking straight and true to her heart. It was hard to believe that they were the same girl.
For the last month or so, she had been questioning herself who exactly she was these days. Once upon a time, she played the part for him, maybe fooling herself that their talks once meant nothing. But, it now seemed the roles were reversed; a mask of indifference had to worn at home, and it was slipped off when she was with him. A different world for each name, it was becoming ever so hard to keep up with the pretenses and to keep each of them separated. If only born Nahyt, she thought, and not Harrow. While her heart fluttered at the thought, it tore at the seams--if she wasn't Harrow, Eris wasn't mother, Salsola wasn't home. Would she be nothing without them? She did not elaborate the thought of another life without them.
She brushed her fingers over the slim branch of peppermint again and tossed the stick off into the undergrowth. Not an a drop of her pack's scent lingered on her, replaced by the spiced herb and other earthy smells. It was a subtle sign to show that she was near, and the thought of him allowed her to shun her festering thoughts, if only for a moment, and she walked even faster, her feet practically gliding over open air. "Skoll?" she called softly, too impatient to remain silent, already wanting to be in his comforting company. There was a childish but honest edge to her voice, and the woman reveled in the fact that she could be herself while here, not having to keep herself in check. Yet, this isn't me, she reminded herself faintly.
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