Darkness claimed the lands.
Only a sliver of a moon decided to grace the scrubland with its light, tonight, when the scattered rain clouds decided it could.

The bitch took advantage of the dark, having decided to use it for their safety as they moved carefully, cautiously, knowing full well how risky it would be otherwise. The rains were intermittent, and as much as she loathed traveling soaked, she ultimately knew it would be for the better. The less chance of her trail being picked up, detected, followed. Or, more importantly, his.

Even before they had reunited, even when she was with Tethys, Rita had not truly needed to care for someone else. She'd been alone. In fact, it was her daughter that had taken up the mantle, had assumed the responsibility for her mother. It was a kindness the bitch did not deserve. The patient girl had reluctantly given her mother the distance she so craved, but never once gave up on her. Tedious, at first. Irritating. But now that her bitterness had been countered by her reunion with Shark, the pirate queen knew better. 

She had sent word with Rokko.
Maybe they will meet again, soon.
Hopefully.

But for now Rita could only afford to focus on Shark. It was, after all, for him that they sought out this place. This sanctuary. Before Rita lived relatively freely under the guise of death, but now she had someone else to live for. Someone whose safety was compromised. And she would not leave him. Never again. Paws tred across sodden ground, her form leaning against his as they strode side by side through the grasslands. Her eyes were peeled, her senses on high alert. This was not the time to let her guard down. Aside from the pitter patter of the rain, and Shark's wheezing breaths, the night seemed solemnly still. Quiet.

The ex-Captain would not mistake that for safe, though.
With a low growl she'd press onward.

After another few minutes, she began to pick up the scents of others. Scents that seemed to coincide with each other. A pack. Was she at the borders of this sanctuary already? Was this what a haven looked like? Ears perked up, the mutt paused, her maw quickly moving over to nuzzle her mate carefully, affectionately, before she'd look outward. At the horizon. Scanning. A soft tap tap tap from her eight o'clock alerted her, and Rita would place herself squarely between herself and the newcomer. Ready for the worst.

She'd recognize the white blob on the wolf's back before truly seeing the wolf, herself. Tethys. A heavy sigh of relief, adrenaline already coursing through her veins from the tension as the mother gazed upon her daughter. The slender girl approached, now cautiously as she recognized the fleeting panic in her mother's eyes. The bird was asleep - or trying to be - on her back, ignoring the worst of the rains. "I'm surprised you called for me, mother." 

Soft words. Gentle words. It still felt odd to be called mother.
"I'm surprised you answered."

Tethys responded only with the gentlest of smiles, so small that others might have easily looked over it. But she knew. Sighing heavily, Rita turned back to nudge Shark, murmuring sweet nothings into his scruff as she offered him tender kisses. For a split second she almost stopped to howl, to summon the inhabitants of this mystery wonderland to them. But as her daughter came up, careful and quiet, she knew she never could. Sending out a resounding howl... she may as well sign her death warrant herself. And Shark's. No. He's not theirs to claim.

So she would wait, her patience only present because of her daughter. Because of her mate. Because of their critical situation.

They needed sanctuary. 
The world was dangerous, and she could not risk it.

soft groan escaped his maw, though he could hardly move it too much. The wounds caused by the dark man had gotten worse and Tarun was finally realizing he needed to ask for help. He had been lying by the water for some time and was carefully using his front paws to swipe water on to his sore and infected wounds, but they were not cleaning out anymore. He wasn't into medicine and didn't know how concerned he should be, but he was catching a fever, slowly but surely. The wounds were deep and crossing his maw, forehead and on the side of his face.

He looked into the water and noticed that the wounds were having trouble closing up too nicely and obvious bite marks outlined the area of the fangs that had set themselves into his face. He dared not move his nose or mouth too much, it hurt so badly. He leaned away from the water and rose to his legs, finally deciding to find himself a healer. Crow had done a huge number on his face it was very uncomfortable. Yet he didn't hate or blame him, just thought he had done the right thing in correcting him from his actions. Disobeying orders was bad.

He turned to leave the water side and almost stumbled over his own legs when he was completely baffled by the sight of someone behind him. he clumsily tried to compose himself again, but without much success. The dumbfound man stood and watched the other male that was climbing into adulthood. Then he felt something drip down the side of his face. He tried to wipe it with his paw only to find yellow puss on his paw and he made a disgusted face - regretted it immediately after.

He looked back up at the male with a questioning face. "Help?" he pointed at his obviously mauled face oozing with infection and blinked at him. He would like some help.

      It was cold, colder than she had ever felt, colder than she ever thought it could be. The surrounding world was blanketed in a layer of white — so starkly different from the vivid shades of green it had been some months ago. So different from the shades of red she had grown up surrounded by. The crisp air felt clean and sharp in her lungs, tasting nothing of Saboro's rain and humidity. It felt fresh. Good. Weight momentarily leaving her chest with every cloudy breath. And in her somber awe, the Sovereign pressed dappled paws into the soft white, crumbling it between her toes, and a single giggle escaped her. It tasted lonely, longing, the white reminded her of little Ori, of Alec's little blaze, of the dapples around Francisca's eyes.

Her world was quiet here. Serene in ways Sol Katti never imagined possible. The ancient willow tree she had carved a temporary home was a silent but comforting presence, only ever sighing lightly with the undecipherable whisper of the wind. She loved it here, and so she would leave. It was time to return to Saboro.

Because Sol Katti had always loved the colors. The intense greens and vivid reds and cool blues. She had to, it was all she knew, wasn't it?

The snow kissed forest said nothing to her. The trees and wind did not speak to her here, leaving the Sovereign to her own thoughts. "It's time to go." To live the rest of her days in her homeland. To watch her successors rule from the shadows. To find or mourn her missing king. "Goodbye." To her little home, to the wise willow tree. She would plant a piece of her heart here — a piece that though frozen was still somehow pretty. This place would nurture it, maybe one day let it bloom. 

The wind and trees did not stop her as she began to walk away. No whispers of her name or titles. No push or pull. Only silence, watchful, quiet. Warm. 

Like a farewell, the flakes of snow pressed tears to her tattooed cheeks. The icy breeze kissed her nose, and despite its silence, it carried something familiar. Pressed it against her heart, and it hurt. Sol Katti turned, foxlike frame whipping around to stare into the white coated woodland. "Are you... really... there?" She called, her voice a choked plea of hope and fear and longing. Without her consent, paws began to stumble forward, stilted and mechanical, chasing the wisps of familiarity to its source. 

Her titles crumbled to the floor, her thoughts of home abandoned in the snow. "You're alive." She didn't look back, only ran closer and closer. A glimpse, a confirmation. It was all she needed; please, don't run, don't go.

Lithe frame stumbled and collapsed in a graceless heap into the snow, and there, Sol Katti sobbed, frozen tears biting her cheeks and icy breaths piercing her lungs. Seafoam eyes held tightly shut. Don't look, her heart wailed, could not bear it to look and only see an illusion. "You're alive. You're alive." Her repeated mantra gasped between her sobs, clutched closely to her chest in a white knuckled grip as though it would all turn out to be a lie if she stopped.

"You're alive."

I could feel the darkness wrapping around me.  It held onto me so tightly that I could feel each rasping breath gasping for air.  My lungs felt tight, suffocated, and screaming for release.  No matter how hard I thrashed and clawed my way through the enthralls of the darkness, I seemed to never found an ending to the bottomless pit I was thrown into.  It was a endless battle over and over that thrusted me back and forth from a will to live to a surrender of exhaustion.  It was a nightmare I had often found myself in every damn, god forsaken night since..well since the day my life ended.  Well figuratively of course.  I figured to the outside world one might find me thrashing in my sleeping, running from an invisible enemy I was never going to catch; but I wouldn't know.

As always, I found myself jerking from my slumber, panting heavily as if I had ran a marathon.  If only that had been the case..but it was not.  I hated these dreams.  I could never understand them and why they were always haunting me, mocking me.  I know I was a stupid little half breed who did not belong in this stupid forsaken world; but I did not ask to be here.  It was not my fault for just simply being!  I could feel my lips curl as a snarl erupted from my muzzle.  I had no one beside me to tell me it was going to be okay.  It just seemed like everyone I cared about just vanished..gone.  Mother died long ago, not even a chance to know her.  Father..Iki..Ky..what about Aunt Scrawl?  I had been abandoned...just like that.  I was the wayward daughter, lost in a world I had no business being in.

I snorted, pushing myself up.  I suppose I was not getting much sleep after that stupid nightmare.  It was a recurring thing since that day and I had no idea what it meant.  Was I like my ancestors?  Cursed with unimaginable madness?  There had been a time when I had blacked out and had no recollection of what had happened.  Just like a certain someone I used to know....There was times when I thought I was doomed from the very start, but what the hell do I know?  All I know is my family was a long line of cursed Fringe Dires, doomed creatures of the world.  Yet, my mother was a hellion half breed like me.  So, either way I had some kind of doomed ancestry life thing.  I had no idea and it only gave me a growing headache the more I dwelled upon it.

Instead, I turned my eyes towards the night lying outside my makeshift den.  Well it was a small cavern that kept me out of the rain I suppose.  Not really cozy to sleep in, but after the long nights I had, I had no right to complain.  The night was beautiful with stars decorating the midnight sky.  The silver moon was at its highest, shining beautiful bright.  It gave the night a nice ominous sight, an almost comforting feeling I suppose.  I ran into an old wolf once who held high praise to the moon.  She swore to the moon, giving high regards to the planet as if it was a god or something.  I kind of scuffed at her, thinking she was crazy or something; but now I realized I had no right to stomp on her beliefs.  Maybe that was her way of coping with this world?  She told me of a land that shared her ideals.  I hope she is still doing well.

ooc: I find it easier to write Mikerra in first person at times.  There may be at times I will write her in third person.  Hope it's not too confusing ^.^ I still have no idea where else to take her.   Feel free to request Mikerra travel to other lands ^.^.  Also I hope you guys enjoyed the little spring of surprise haha.

The snow fell. Quiet. Soft. Smothering what had happened.
Or, at least, it was trying to.

Soft white flakes drifted to the ground, attempting to blanket over the evidence. What lay behind. But even that gentle white could not blot out the death that stained these frigid grounds. Instead it was consumed, stained, absorbed into the wicked reds that pooled beneath the evergreens. That trailed beyond it, on tiny paw prints, toward the ever-distant sound of festivities. Of life. Of what his fragile little mind could only assume was family.

And so he plodded along, each step heavier than the last. 
Each breath becoming just a bit shorter. Each muscle wobbling just a bit more.

The two month old could not even begin to process what had happened. Only that he had to move. "RUN!" Her voice echoed, cracked, cried in the back of his mind. Just behind his ears. Itching against his neck. Only that word... she'd only said that word. It didn't sound like anything else he'd ever heard from her before... None of the gentle cooing, the sweet and warming lullabies, her soft voice against his forehead as she told him each and every night how much she loved him. No. None of that.

Choke.
Gasp.

The weight in his throat grew, the horrible heat in his cheeks and his eyes and his throat, it scratched and scratched but it would not stop. The anguish of emotions his young mind could not process simply smothered his consciousness. The pup choked a sob here or there, but otherwise was a mere mass in the forest, shuddering and shaking in the deafening silence that came with a night's snowfall.

His pace, if one could even call it that as the blob of fur moved a mile a minute, creaked to a near standstill. Speckles of white powder began to accumulate on his back, lasting only a split second before it seemed to transform into a brilliant red. The same red that was fresh upon his face, upon his nape, against his belly. Still warm. Still her. Some unyielding part of his mind told him to keep it, to keep her, to never let this stain of love wash off. But he could not listen to his mind right now. He could only hear one thing, everything else was a numbing blur, a ringing that closed in around him.

"RUN!" she had said.
She had screamed.
Begged...

The chill of the night was beginning to steal the warmth from the red that painted him. It began to cake and crust, to send harsher chills up his legs. Plump puppy paws continued against the cold ground, each step leaving an imprint of blood where he went. Of her. She is still with me, this way, isn't she? He could not truly know what it meant to be gone. At two months, what could he know? 

"RUN!" 
A word he knew. And so he had run.
He ran until his legs wobbled. 
Until tears could no longer build in his eyes.
Until his heaving little chest could not take in enough air.
Until the merciless chill of the night pricked at him so relentlessly, he could do nothing but slow.

And now he had stopped.

Shivering violently, the little fat boy sat, hunched. Caked in blood. Caressed in snow that could not keep its white. He could not look ahead, nor behind him. He simply closed his eyes, perhaps hoping that the gentle darkness of the night might claim him. Perhaps hoping that the stunning, beautiful figure of his mother - clad in white and black - would follow the trail of her red and find him. To cuddle him against her belly, under her tail, and coo sweet nothings into his ear as he lulled into enticing bliss. But he could not hope, not now. Just as much as he could not know what this red meant, what death was, or how permanent his loneliness was now bound to be.

All he could do now was sit.
Choke. Gasp.
Sit and shudder under the grasp of an empty night.

"M-m-m-mama..."
But Mama would not answer him.
Not ever again.

Bacchus had changed as much as Bjørn and he had no real opinion of the changes, it didn't bother him the slightest. Kings like Rainer were a generic bunch anyway and he was content following him because it was comfortable and left him a in comfortable position. He didn't need to think much, something he knew he wasn't good at. Not because he was stupid, but more often than not thinking came second to him.

He was on a foul mood today and gnawing on bones didn't help. He had been lucky to find remains of something dead, it barely contained any meat or flesh and certainly no blood. Figures, he hated scavenging because it robbed him of the chance to taste blood, like stealing gold from his pockets, draining him dry. He had to make due with bone gnawing and chew off pieces from it. He snarled displeased, the foul mood just growing with every sour taste of leftovers. This wasn't real food.

He didn't pay much attention to his surroundings but when he heard snaps of twigs he moved his ears in the direction of the sound, turning with a lustful expression. Blood vessels? Prey? rivers of blood reader to burst? He watched eagerly, and began sniffing the air to make out the scent. His mood dropped another notch.

"Just come out." He was annoyed, like a bear waken from hibernation he was ready lash out if provoked, little to no patience in his bones. He looked disinterested in his own meal and kicked it away from him and stared in the direction of the newcomer, a male, smaller than himself by a few inches. He squinted his eyes at him and them choked out a small short laugh. "What you doing boy?" Are you here to bother me?