[ P ] Fever Dreams

I'm still running against the wind

How long he had been kept in the dreadful dungeon, the wolf could not guess. The war had been waged, the spoils divided among the losers, for no side had won – but this was unknown news to Finch, for the conclusion of the conflict had come while he was still deep beneath the ground, a prisoner of the false king, Adamh. There was no kindness, no mercy in the mouth of hell, only a cold that penetrated every cell of one’s body, and the wet stench of earth and archaic iron bars meant to keep their enemy bound, silenced.

How he had escaped this torment, the wolf was unsure. His wounds went ignored and he was deprived of sustenance in their jail. Even weeks after the battle, his head ached and was prone to vertigo. But when the opportunity presented itself in the form of chaos and confusion, Finch had slipped away from one prison, directly into another: the Mainlands, where he had been wandering now for days, trying to avoid locals. He did not belong there, had no will to stay, but no way to leave.

He had evaded capture to find a world dressed in white, an onslaught of fiercely cold winter days. Here, every road was traversed by wary strangers. The familiarity of the northern country was wholly absent here, in a place he had been cautioned against throughout his youth. The sights, the faces, nothing was known to him here. There was no sign of Coal, his brother. His mother, only the gods knew what had become of her. He stayed near the outskirts of the town, existing in a state of frustration, fear, and dizziness.

The morning began with a flurry of snow, not enough to coat the ground, but plenty enough to be a nuisance as it stung his deep blue sights while he walked alone. With an empty belly and full mind, he failed to see the missing rock along the ancient cobblestone path. An enormous paw slipped, and the brute fell backward without a sound – save for the thud of his large frame hitting the freezing ground.


@Ashira

Ashira’s new promotion had not been a complete surprise. Charge nurse had a nice ring to it, but she was not easily seduced by titles or what she was promised for her new rank. Though the workload had slowly receded, she was in charge of ensuring the other medics were on top of what was best for the soldiers. Wounds were wounds, whether mental, physical, or emotional - they all needed proper tending.

She had recently been in Rionna, arriving to the homes of officers and ensuring their wounds were properly managed before leaving. The satchel around her frame silently bounced against her right side, filled with the proper healing supplies that all traveling nurses were required to carry. Its weight was not heavy, rather light in its own way, and Ashira knew none of the supplies would become contaminated from a simple brush or push from a random person.

Fate had Ashira walking during the winter season towards Yorkshire, no direct plans made for her return to the barracks. She was within a mile from the less rowdy camps when she heard a muffled, but large ‘THUD’ to her right. A few yards ahead, Ashira’s silver eyes caught the frame of a large male freshly settled in the snow. Instead of rushing forward and slipping on potential ice, Ashira moved at her normal pace until she reached the stranger. An invisible caress of destiny touched her cheek and moved towards the dark-pelted male before sailing off to another destination.

She smelled the iron of dried blood on the wind and saw a rib or two attempting to push beneath his pelt. He was most likely not completely emaciated, but could be heading towards that direction. As the male appeared to try and correct himself, she waited until their eyes met before she spoke. “You look rough.” A phrase that could be said for many of the wounded and sick wolves whose paths she had crossed. Even as she said it, Ashira did not indicate a reason to show a sneering or snobby attitude. “Do you require assistance?”

I'm still running against the wind

His head ached ferociously, and for a second, the brute considered staying in the snow. He had made it this far, perhaps he was not meant to go further. But as he began to pull himself out of the snow, the wolf saw a woman appear like a specter from the snowy ether – or rather, he saw several versions of this wolfess, as his tattered mind and blurred vision duplicated the image before him many times over so that it was hard to deduce which one was real.

”You look rough.” Her voice sounded very far away. Sky blue eyes were fixed upon the stranger’s silver sights as he spat out: ”Cha - you - ghabh th-thu mi gu bràth – again.” The words came haltingly, a muddled mixture of both languages he spoke: You will never take me… again.

Belatedly, her words seemed to register within his aching skull: ”Do you require assistance?” Eyelids narrowed until only a hint of the azure gems beneath still showed – in part because he was suspicious, but also in an attempt to stop the world from spinning all around him.

He didn’t trust her, by virtue of her being here in the Mainlands. Even to his jostled brain, it meant she was opposed to his kind. But he wasn’t going to get far without any sort of assistance, and so, he lumbered awkwardly closer to her, stopping several feet away to keep from collapsing at her pale paws. He appeared unsteady, as if he was swaying to music that no others could hear. ”I’m – a soldier,” he offered, consciously excluding which side he had fought for. ”What news – the war – who…?” The words were a struggle, but he looked at the woman earnestly, desperate to know the truth, whichever way the winds of war had blown – who was the victor of the long-fought war?




@Ashira

Ashira observed the male as he rose from the snow, his body swaying and his eyes unfocused. There were more than a few reasons that could explain why he was dealing with his current symptoms. Ashira was not one to assume offhand what was causing his distress; she knew that she had to wait and anticipate what was supposed to reveal itself. The male in front of her blundered in his speech, voicing something she could not understand. Rather than speculate, she perked both ears and gave him time to pull himself together as best he could.

When his full height was seen, she had to tilt her head slightly up to catch his gaze. ‘I’m a soldier,’ was his answer to her question regarding assistance. He swayed with each step, keeping his balance on alternating paws as he moved towards her. Her silver eyes bored into his as he asked in spurts of stolen air, ‘What news - the war - who…?’ An earnest look was given and she took it into consideration as she took a couple of steps towards him. “It was similar to a draw,” she answered. “There are two separate rulers instead of one alone.”

A brief silence, then:

“You are about to fall again,” she observed. The male looked as if he were about to teeter and collapse in the snow. Proof of a previous faceplant in the cold, winter landscape was evident by hanging on different parts of his dark pelt. “Do you need help balancing?”

I'm still running against the wind

The mystery wolfess moved closer to Finch. Was she floating…? It looked that way to his tattered mind and weary eyes as he attempted to focus on the silver sights of the stranger. She was like a spirit before him, and her feminine tones caused dark-rimmed ears to perk forward. Her words, however, had a visible impact on the man, as his posture drooped, eyes cast downward. ”A draw?” The brute’s expression was one of confusion, brows knit together and mouth slightly agape.

The news filtered slowly through the delirium: Jacob had not claimed victory, despite all the blood shed and lives lost, family bonds obliterated – like his own. Had it all been a waste? If the land could be split in two, with each king claiming his own kingdom, why didn’t they do that before war erupted? Azure eyes raised to stare past the monochrome wolfess in disbelief. Even in his fractured mind, the senselessness settled like a heavy rock in a riverbed. ”Cén fáth a raibh muid ag troid?” He wondered out loud: Why did we fight? All for nothing but the pride of two wolves who would allow others to die for their cause.

The world around him threatened to cave in like an avalanche, but there would certainly be time for existential crises in the future, when his head wasn’t aching so. And the dizziness hadn’t subsided, causing the stranger to comment: “You are about to fall again.” Temporary silence would follow before she made an unexpected offer: “Do you need help balancing?”

For a lingering moment, Finch hesitated, attempting again to make the woman's moonlit eyes his focal point. There was a good chance that this she-wolf was a Royalist, given her presence in the Mainlands, so close to the town. But he had little choice – it was either lay unconscious in the snow again until he succumbed to the elements, or trust the stranger who now offered her assistance. As he made up his mind to accept her assistance, his large body decided for him. Finch stumbled over and before he collapsed again, fell into the stranger’s warmth until the two were standing side by side.

”Who – are – leat?” Muddled mind produced the final word, the ancient language of the north for the word you. "Spiorad? A spirit?"




@Ashira

The news of the war’s final results seemed to hit the male like a rock. His eyes cast downward and shoulders drooped as he echoed, ‘A draw?’ He was not pleased by any means, even if his current stupor was the primary state of his mind. If she had been a regular wolf, questions regarding why he was interested in the war’s outcome would have touched her lips. Yet, she was not a regular wolf and kept any potentially curious inquiries to herself. Now was not the time.

A foreign tongue was attached to the male as his next question spilled into the evening air. ‘Cén fáth a raibh muid ag troid?’ Ashira’s ears perked a bit at the words he spoke, her brain soaking them in like a sponge. They were familiar, the dialect quite similar to words her past patients had spoken during one-on-one visits. She had not tried to quiet them; rather, she gave them the chance to vent in a language she had not touched on all her life. Bits and pieces were left in her mind, but she hadn’t pursued them unless fate steered her in that direction.

Time stood still for only a few seconds as the dark-furred male met her eyes before he folded to her question. His body was about to lose its balance and he resigned to accepting Ashira’s quiet offer. His frame was bigger and as he leaned against her, he almost towered over the monochrome woman. Ashira was more sturdy than she appeared; she showed no signs of his weight creating an issue.

Rather than head towards the barracks - where noses could start sniffing and tongues would start wagging - she felt a warm caress of destiny that pulled her towards the direction of a small town in the opposite direction. Ashira had been there before, knowing a few parts of it that no one crossed. This information could be given later as they began to move.

‘Who – are – leat?’ His words came out like sap from a tree and Ashira remained quiet as he continued after a second or two. ‘Spiorad? A spirit?’ She didn’t break her gaze from the road ahead as snow started to fall, creating tiny flurries of dancing flakes as they trekked their way towards the small lights of the town’s houses. That did not mean she would be rude. “Ashira,” she replied, her tones remaining the same as each step brought them closer. “Not a spirit,” she answered, tail flicking once behind her as she looked at him through a side glance. “I’m too solid.” An ear perked as she continued to watch him before turning back towards the upcoming village. “Who are leat?”

I'm still running against the wind

Ashira. Finch attempted to commit the feminine moniker to memory, but soon, it was muddled in his skull – was it Shiara? Ashra? Rash – no, that couldn’t be it, such an unfortunate name certainly didn’t belong to the stoic monochrome woman. He would have to inquiry again later, but for now, she would simply be Spirit – a notion that the woman had denied, but what little Finch knew about spirits suggested that this was questionable in and of itself. Some were kind, some were tricksters. This could be some sort of shapeshifter – oh, what had his mother called them? He had never paid much attention to her old folksy stories, having always thought they were silly. But the recollections were too far away to gather, and searching uselessly in his tattered memories seemed only to make the agony within his skull worse. He would just have to take Spirit’s word for it.


He was pulled from his tumultuous thoughts by a question, and even though he had asked it first, it gained an odd look. He wondered: had she intended to speak both languages? … Whilst not realizing he had done the exact same thing. He cleared his throat, voice lowering a octave so that no others could hear – not that it mattered, since he was not as infamous as his mother. ”Finch. Is mise Finch.”


The snow was falling again, gentle as a kiss. Finch couldn’t see it, as his vision was still hazy. He felt the snow, however, as it landed on his face, his dark nostrils, but the cold was overpowered by the warmth the stranger provided. Why was she being so kind to someone she didn’t know?


Then, storm-clad brute seemed to notice where they appeared to be going, and his eyes narrowed at the sight of the pale lights that illuminated a nearby town. It wasn’t the dungeons, but who was to say soldiers weren’t waiting for him? He turned his head, peering down at the she-wolf nervously. ”You live here? Anseo?” *Here?* Which was quickly followed by another question: "Mainlander?"



@Ashira

The cosmos had ensured Ashira’s path would cross the male beside her. With each step they took, they were bound for their short term destiny. She would not falter, nor would she question the universe about the reason for her helping a stranger during a snow fall. Each step she took beside the tall male was a step in the right direction. The conversation they were having, despite its short spurts from either wolf, was slowly unraveling the need-to-know facts that this encounter needed.

She did not have to wait long for the male to say, ‘Finch. Is mise Finch.’ His name was short and to the point, quite like hers, she silently observed. The fact that his name was also a part of nature didn’t fly past her, either. “Like the bird,” she stated. She didn’t question his name, but rather proved that she was not an ignorant female.

When Finch narrowed his eyes at the village, his muscles slightly tensed, causing the response to flex against Ashira’s warmth. She did not acknowledge the male’s physical telltale sign of suspicion; Finch was making it slightly more noticeable when he next spoke. ‘You live here? Anseo?’ A brief pause, then: ‘Mainlander?’

The questions created a small window of time for Ashira to mull the answers over in her mind. How best to explain where she was from? Silver eyes roved towards one particular cabin that remained well lit, despite being settled a few meters from the most active part of the village. Her direction turned slightly as she pushed through the snow with more weight, giving herself the chance to flex her toes and gaining balance. “No…and no,” she replied, ears perking as she felt Finch’s response in his touch. “I travel and settle when it’s fitting.”

She continued to guide Finch towards the back door of the cabin, its warmth reaching out through the candle in the window and the quiet that settled around it with the snow. “Leat?” She simply asked, slowly starting to register bits and pieces of his foreign tongue.

I'm still running against the wind

Am I asleep or awake?

His mind would wander as heavy paws shuffled through the snow. Was this the fodder of nightmare or dreams? The brute found himself in a strange land, with a svelte specter by his side with sights a shade of silver Finch has only seen in the night sky. This moonlit phantom allowed the darkness to seem a little less daunting, the cold less bitter.

The Spirit commented on his name, and he made a hm sound in agreement. ”Máthair phioc m'ainm,” He explained to someone who couldn’t possibly understand, that his mother had chosen his name. ”Had another, but…” His tongue grew still - he had already divulged enough.

Even from a distance, despite his blurred vision and the peppering of snow in his field of vision, Finch could see the warm light of a candle that illuminated the dreary world from the window of an old wooden cabin. The humble dwelling was set a little ways from the rest of the village.

The light grew brighter as the pair drew nearer to the cabin as the wolfess described her situation before inquiring in return: ”Leat?” Now it was the man’s turn to search for a response. To lie would be simple, no need to share any sordid details of why or how he was here, nor where he was supposed to be – back in the dungeons, rotting away for Adamh’s hubris. Instead, he gave a response that was mostly true: ”Travel, yes. No settling.” He hadn’t had a proper home in years, and even in youth when he had… well, he had grown up in a cave – literally. Maybe the Highlanders were just as wild as the Royalists said.

On giant paws he teetered again before an old door. If not for the woman’s support, he would have faceplanted again. Then again, without her assistance, he could easily still be laying in the snow. His voice rumbled in his throat like distant thunder: ”Thank you, kind Spirit.”



@Ashira

The trek to the cabin was not long; due to the snow and how time slowed during the cold, it felt like a week’s worth of walking. To the average wolf, it would have been exhausting. Ashira was not like the average wolf. She had dealt with usually tiresome situations, leading to mental exhaustion and anguish for a regular person. Instead, she pushed through such situations and hadn’t come out less tired than when she went in. This was not different by any means; she was helping carry weight and walking through the snow. Simple physical strength being used and not more than needed.

Finch spoke at her observation to his name. ‘Máthair phioc m'ainm.’ From the way her ears took it, he said something about his mother. ‘Had another, but…’ His voice faded and she did not press him for more information. She was not one to dive into her own past too often. It was something she was not accustomed to doing with others.

His answer to her next question was about as short as hers. ‘Travel, yes. No settling.’ Ashira gave a short nod as they walked, taking the information at face value. There were nomads throughout this continent - her friend, Sinclair, being one of them - and their purposes differed from those with grounded homes. Ashira was aware of the various wolves from both parties - that didn’t mean they were the only types of travelers out there.

Silence fell over them for a time, snow falling around them as they came closer to the back door of the cabin. Finch faltered, but Ashira firmed her standing more as he applied more weight to her side. She waited until he was more steady and they proceeded to move forward. The door pushed open easily and she led the way towards the warmth that sucked any cold from their joints. Snow attempted to come and left puddles on the wooden floor, cousins to the flakes that started to melt from both wolves’ pelts. A small detail that she would mop up later.

‘Thank you, kind Spirit,’ he mumbled, his deep voice ringing close to her ear. “You’re welcome,” she returned. She perked said ear in his direction before she came to a stop beside a makeshift bed with variously textured furs. “Your balancing has been successful,” she observed. “Your legs, however, are exhausted.” As she said it, his limbs were shaking as they continued to stand. “Lay down here and your strength will slowly return.”