Whatever had been out there; whomever or whatever they’d brought back with them, none of it mattered much to the Shihan as she watched the sunset from just outside the mouth of her Mother’s old den. None of it had gotten her any closer to learning Ezekiel’s location or his status. For all she knew— for all, she knew he’d died the moment that she’d leaped past the flames like a coward. The large cat could have swallowed him whole, and if not that beast than perhaps something else. Who knew what else those heathens had in their corner…so much more than the Valley and her combined, of that much the female was certain.
It was no small wonder that they’d lost, and she bit her lower lip as her brown eyes looked towards the red hue in the sky. It was so like the fire that Tortuga and others continued to use against them with ease. At this rate, Oukoku-Kai would lose again, it was only a matter of time unless the religious pack somehow willed itself to change. However, who was she to make such a judgment call when she herself hadn’t changed much in the past few years? Since when had she begun to move on with her life?
“Tch.” She scoffed at her own show of hypocrisy. It seemed both she and Tessa were the bearers of some unsavory personality traits. Which mother had they gotten that from, she wondered as she stood? Her legs were sore from running around, and a bit shaky from being underused. The Shihan would have to fix that. Of course, she would. As evident from all her time spent not moving on, Hanna was not the type to give up so easily, even when her mind clouded over with doubts.
Slaving Season wasn’t restricted to just one time of the year anymore, and with their lack of activity, Hanna was sure that she could make a reasonable case to take her Slavers out again on another expedition sooner rather than later. Oukoku-Kai needed more bodies for the ‘end of days’, and Hanna intended to milk that need as much as possible to fine the one body that mattered. But for now, for now, she’d have to wait a few days before going into the outside world once again. In the girl’s possession was some form of power, yet not enough to make constantly searching for her friend a reality.
What she wouldn’t give to be a Rosa…or a King…for surely a king would’ve had no trouble finding a love that was lost.
A somber grin played across her muzzle at such a pipedream.
“Wouldn’t that be nice…taking back what you lost.” Dreams of such conquest were never far from her thoughts.
Hanna began to clear the rocky terrain that night, making her way over towards one of the running rivers that streamed through the yellow maze. She’d drink her troubles down tonight, for what must have been the thousandth time, and start anew the next day. As her head dipped down to lap at the icy cold flow, creamy kinks of hair fell over her eyes. She hadn’t always had them and seldom noticed any difference, but as she lifted herself back up, the hindrance of such hair would become apparent, but for that interference being undermined within mere seconds.
He hadn’t been there at first, but her curls are blown to the side by an almost knowing, seemingly planned, gust of wind. Her mouth parts. Hangs open. Hanna is the picture of shock. And though she tries, or at least thinks that she’s trying, to form a coherent sentence, one moment she is standing in place, and in the next, she is charging through the waters to get to him. She can’t hear her own screaming or sobbing rather. Nor does she seem to notice or care that her own body doesn’t just stop in front of his if the male does not move to the side. instead, she falls into him, knocks him down even. They could be a mess of tears and tangled limbs on the ground for all to see, and it didn’t matter.
She had so much to say. Declarations about how happy she was to have him back. Confessions that might mean nothing now, after so long, but ones that she wanted to tell him nevertheless. Questions about who’d taken him, what they’d done to him, how he’d survived it and…d-did he want to go back? She wouldn’t be able to help but wonder about that too…But none of that is what she says in-between her quivering and uncharacteristic moans.
No. For there is a point when the sounds of relief morph into guttural anguish and remorse; because, what else could she possibly say to his return, after EVERYTHING she’d failed to do?
“I’M SORRY!” She stammers pitifully. She hadn’t met his ruby gaze yet, and it wasn’t due to the tears…She didn’t deserve to look the man in his eyes! “SO SORR SORRY I’M SO SORRY I’M SORRY— “ And on and on, just like that, she can’t think of anything else right now that’s more important for Ezekiel to know. “I’d a’ let it kill me! If I— I should’ve— I!”
‘I didn’t fight for you!’ Hanna tried to say. But the weight of that…the sting…she is a coward and doesn’t want to so much as speak those words. “I— I’d go back n’,” Sniff. “Do it in a heartbeat!” She’d die for him just like he’d been ready to do for her.
“I’M SORRY—”
If anything stops her from apologizing further, it’s her own body doing the job. Causing her to choke on her spit and mucus. She coughs feebly against his neck thanks to the sensation for a moment, enough time to gain some iota of composure, though she still clings to him tightly (with her wuff hands).
“I just— I’m so glad you’re alive, Big Guy.” That doesn’t even begin to cover it.
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