cakeThe fever burned in his eyes, a fire he rarely felt anymore, except when he forgot to keep it in check. There was a latent fear in him of it, of forgetting, yet when it happened he always found it to be welcome. A walking contradiction, maybe, but wasn't life itself the same way? Despite this, the black wolf walked with a purposeful stride, his self-control in check as it always was; if there was one thing he prided himself on, it was that. There was a long gash in his side, a gift given to him by an angry moose, but he didn't notice it, now. For three days he had been away from home. For three days he had watched it heal from a place outside of himself. He couldn't remember the last time he had thought clearly.
cakeThat day, Bane was well enough (or maybe just high enough) to go home. And so that was what he was doing, his thoughts on the city ahead, his walk faster than normal without him noticing it. The forest was strangely quiet, thick even in the winter, and he could still smell the must and dirt; maybe he was imagining it? Through the smell of the woods, he caught something else, something that made him stop abruptly, so abruptly that to a stranger his heart may well have ceased beating in mid-stride. This scent was something he had registered and put away for future reference, because it was important...
cakeHe walked, slower now, following her scent, which was so strong to him she might as well have left a blood trail. His eyes, which were afflicted with that darkness that normally hid so well behind his self-medicated mask, were sharp as he looked for a glimpse of her against the snow. She appeared to him then, white like an angel hiding her wings, or maybe an angel without. He smiled as if he were pleased. He was pleased, this was undeniable. The rocks above her cast an odd shadow, as if trying to hide her from him. "Miss Aurèle," he said to her, and it said it softly, uncharacteristically so, "why do I find you alone again? Surely there are many who would vie for your company." There was no sarcasm in his voice, but that undefinable thing lurked still in his eyes. He kept his distance, knowing what would happen was unavoidable. He had also known, all along, he would find her again; it had been fated.
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