[ P ] Fever Dreams

I'm still running against the wind

The wolfess was steady and determined, for whatever her reasons, to save a mere stranger. Finch stumbled over the home's threshold, still following the Spirit's lead and leaning into her warmth. She led him to a bed and finally his strength gave out, just as the words departed the she-wolf’s mouth. He collapsed onto the bed with a groan. ”An bhfanfaidh tú?” He asked in his own language before he inquired in hers, fighting exhaustion to find her moonlit eyes: ”Will you stay?”

…

The sleep that followed was restless - giant paws twitched and limbs jerked as if he were trying to run away from some unknown terror. His features contorted like he was being hurt. A low growl, followed by a whine. After several hours had passed, the Highlander brute woke with a start from the nightmare that had consumed him. Disoriented and disheveled, Finch looked around to find himself in an unfamiliar place. In a croaking voice, he wondered out loud: ”Cad é an diabhal?” Where the hell am I?

He was in a bed, which was better than the usual cave he was accustomed to. The blankets were coarse, but they were the nicest he’d ever felt. He had never been a wolf of luxury. His head still ached, but agony had diminished to a nagging discomfort. Then, he remembered how he got here, and azure eyes peered around the dimly lit cabin for Spirit. He hoped that she wasn’t just a product of delirium, a vision conjured up by a lonely imagination.

His voice was hoarse, deep and gravelly: ”I thought you were just a dream.” He would observe her movements to see if she was the phantom he had imagined - did she walk or did she float? Weary features grew somber, a frown tugging at the corners of his lips. ”You shouldn’t be so trusting of strangers. I could have been anyone. Why would you risk yourself for someone you don’t know?“ His words came from a place of concern for the wolfess who had just saved him. ”Or do spirits like you have no fear?” The hint of a smile graced his monochrome visage.



@Ashira

Ashira was not the type who became surprised by anything. Her perspective of life had broad horizons, giving her an advantage when it came to general reactions to events or people. The way that she had found Finch, practically sharing an intimate moment with a piece of snow drift belonging to the landscape, along with his mental state and lack of balance, proved that she had discovered him in a vulnerable state. As she saw to him collapsing across the bed and his exhaustion won out, ears perked slightly as he asked, ‘Will you stay?’ in both his native tongue and hers. The effort it took for him to speak during his current state caused a ghost of a small upward tilt of her lips before she said, “Yes.”

——— Two hours later ———

Ashira had kept herself busy for the first part of Finch’s knock out nap. She knew the inside of the cabin like the back of her paw, thanks to fate ensuring she had crossed paths with the owner. Without meeting him, she would not have been able to use the cabin for a year. Paws were soft on the hardwood floor as she padded towards the kitchen, checking on the stew that she had mixed together. Various herbs with healing properties were mixed in, masked by the meat and tomatoes that simmered in the pot. The house was filled with the tender aroma, finding every nook and cranny to claim. When she heard the grumble and thumps of the male - ‘Cad é an diabhal?’ Where the hell am I? - she turned off the eye and softly padded towards his room.

From where he lay, he could see the comings and goings of anyone approaching the room. Bleary eyed, he caught Ashira’s monochrome frame and said, ‘I thought you were just a dream.’ Silver eyes met his and she stated, “Real as you.” Her pace was slow as she approached him, natural poise in her steps as he continued to speak, his mouth dipping into a frown. ‘You shouldn’t be so trusting of strangers. I could have been anyone. Why would you risk yourself for someone you don’t know?’

“You needed help,” she said, stopping a foot from his bed to recline on her haunches. “Strangers don’t cause me worry when it comes to trusting them,” she bluntly stated. “Trust comes with time, at times in shorter frames than others.” She thought about the trust she had built with Sinclair. The man was not one to easily give it away - it was a gift she had earned…and vice versa.

Finch’s words continued, his frown moving into a smile as he asked, ‘Or do spirits like you have no fear?’ She flicked her tail beside her hind flank once as she blinked before answering. “I don’t accept fear,” she returned, knowing that his adjective of ‘spirit’ for her was almost like a pet name from his dark lips. “Fear holds back many from doing what is expected of them…” Her words faded and she watched Finch with shimmering eyes of silver moons. “You did not appear afraid when I offered to help you.” She wondered if he had fear set in his range of emotions or not.

I'm still running against the wind

The smell of food being prepared, mixed with the feminine scent of the almost-stranger, was soothing to Finch, despite the inherent dangers of simply existing there in the Mainlands. He was still in Adamh’s territory, but it was paradise, especially compared with the prison he had just escaped. To go from one extreme to the other – locked up in a squalid jail cell, to resting on a warm bed with the aroma of a meal wafting through the air, and a beautiful, ethereal wolfess … It was disorienting, but pleasant, to say the least. “Real as you.” Under his breath, the brute murmured: ”Thank the gods.”

He had been raised to be self-sufficient. Strong. And in that moment, unable to stay on his paws and in the land of his lifelong enemies, he felt like neither of those things. Would his mother be ashamed? Had she also been caught and made a prisoner? He urged these dark thoughts away as the monochromatic lady drew closer to the bed and to Finch, and his ears pricked forward as her calm tones spoke of trust and of strangers. What choice did he have but to trust her now? Her energy was tranquility. Gentleness in lupine form - a far cry from the savagery of war. ”Well, I thank you for your assistance, Spirit. You didn't have to help. I’m glad that you found me instead of…” Anyone else. But he didn’t finish the thought aloud.

“I don’t accept fear...” The she-wolf’s comment earned a quizzical look. ”Fear holds back many from doing what is expected of them.” Her ghostly eyes held his curious stare as she continued: ”You did not appear afraid when I offered to help you.” A sideways grin spread slowly across Finch’s muzzle as he considered Spirit’s bold words. He would respond eventually, after several thoughtful moments, with a distinctly Highlander lilt in his voice: ”I couldn’t think straight when you found me. But I was still afraid that you would be one of them.” He watched the delicate, unblemished visage of the ghostly healer to see how she would respond. Perhaps she had already guessed that he was a Jacobite… whatever that meant now, he was not certain.

The grin upon his facade faded with each syllable uttered: ”Being on the battlefield… And in that damned dungeon…” An unconscious shudder rocked his scarred frame. Ocean blue eyes closed lightly. The wounds within his psyche were worse than the ones the woman could see. He shook his still aching head, words punctuated by a cynical chuckle that rumbled in his throat like distant thunder: ”No, I think you are more courageous than I am, Spirit. If I were you, I might have left me to die in the snow. I could have been an enemy.” Azure sights opened again, seeking the pale crescents of the wolfess, admiration scribed across his visage. "I am the enemy here."



@Ashira

The snow continued to fall and the wind started to pick up, whistling around the windows of the cabin. A storm had apparently been summoned after a quiet day, but the weather would not affect the conversation that continued between Ashira and Finch. It was background noise as Ashira listened to Finch when he spoke. ‘Well, I thank you for your assistance, Spirit. You didn't have to help. I’m glad that you found me instead of…’ His voice faded off, but she didn’t push him to complete his sentence. There was a reason for it and she knew it would fall into place later if fate allowed it.

A quizzical look, a sideways grin, and perked ears showed he listened to her fact about helping him without fear. ‘I couldn’t think straight when you found me. But I was still afraid that you would be one of them.’ One of them? She was not familiar with whom he was referring to, but she would not ask - it was not the right time. Destiny scratched her ears, keeping them perked as he continued. ‘Being on the battlefield… And in that damned dungeon…’ Ahh, that was where this conversation was heading. His shudder and a shake of his head prompted Ashira to speak. “You were part of the war,” she stated, no malice or accusatory tones in her voice.

‘No, I think you are more courageous than I am, Spirit. If I were you, I might have left me to die in the snow. I could have been an enemy…I am the enemy here.’ Silver eyes were caught by the blue opts of her unexpected rescue and she saw his intent to prove that his words rang true - regarding where he stood and where he thought she stood. “You are not an enemy to me,” she returned, ears remaining perked as she rose to her paws. “The food is ready.”

Monochrome frame turned towards the kitchen, tail swaying around her hind paws as she walked to grab two large bowls from a nearby shelf. Moving with practiced ease, she filled both bowls and brought them back towards a low-leveled table, one bowl at a time. Two plush cushions were seated at the table and she waited for him to rise and settle in the remaining cushion before she applied comfortable pressure on her own. Ashira nodded towards the bowl, silently leading him towards the warm meal. Once they started eating and fell into a comfortable silence, Ashira’s voice rubbed it with a low octave. “Why are you an enemy?”

I'm still running against the wind

“You were part of the war.” Her tones remained steady, no hint of hatred hidden beneath each syllable. A soft hum of acknowledgement as he found it nearly impossible to look away from the monochrome woman now. “You are not an enemy to me.” She spoke so freely, as if the words carried no meaning when the opposite was true. She was full of surprises, this Spirit. Then, in the next breath, she announced: “The food is ready.”


At her invitation, Finch slipped over the side of the bed, using what strength remained to keep himself from hitting the old wooden flooring snout-first. He was quite determined to appear like he was doing better than he felt, and despite the resurgence of dizziness, stumbled over to where she awaited him. Lacking any semblance of grace, he fell into the soft pillow with a grunt, but he bit his lip to keep his pain to himself. He peered curiously into the bowl intended for him. Stew, the nicest, most edible meal he had seen in months – or even years, he couldn’t begin to guess. So was it any wonder that his table manners were sorely lacking? He wolfed down the food provided as Spirit inquired: “Why are you an enemy?”


For this question, Finch had no simple answer, and he stared into his empty bowl as he sought the truth. He was an enemy because they were his enemies. That was just how it worked… Right? But here was this ethereal wolfess, her beauty further highlighted by the dismal drear of darkness. ”You would have to ask Adamh why. Or Jacob, or any of the others who –” There was enough blame to go around, but Finch had willingly followed, so perhaps he deserved the animosity he would undoubtedly receive from others. His voice grew softer as he added: ”I’m not your enemy,” he offered, finally, as azure sights turned up slowly to find silver gems again. ”At least, I hope I’m not.” He wished he had the courage to inquire, but the words halted on his tongue: But you are in the Mainlands, so what does that mean?


Instead, a sideways smile crossed his muzzle as he inquired: ”Are you this nice to everyone, or am I just lucky?” What he meant to say was pitiful – he knew that looked as rough as he felt. Self-awareness seemed to sprout as the pounding in his skull began to recede. Finch was leaner than before, features gaunt and haggard from his time locked away. He was a shadow of his old self. But in that moment, it didn’t seem to matter, at least with his present company. Her silvery sights held no apparent judgment, at least as far as Finch could detect when he allowed his gaze to rise to meet hers. He had never seen eyes like hers before. Spirit exudes a presence of peace. Disorienting after being in the dungeon, the incessant sounds of torture, foul smells, and menacing soldiers with hatred in their eyes.


Adding to the mysterious aura, she seemed to be a woman of little words – which meant Finch would have to work harder to learn more about her. And he intended to do just that, if she stayed around long enough, anyway. She wasn’t obligated to do so, but Finch hoped she would. Where her countenance was calm and comforting, his was severe… And only after a few quiet seconds had passed did Finch realize he couldn’t pull his gaze away from her soft features. His face grew red with embarrassment as his focus turned again to the empty. ”Um, thank you – for all of this. Do you - uh, do you cook? Is that your thing?” Oh no. Now he would sound as bad as he looked. He berated himself for asking carelessly. "I mean, uh, what is it that you do...?"



@Ashira

Ashira

Ashira was aware that Finch was still going through the motions of recovery. Most patients she had crossed paths with were at different points of their healing journey. From the way things had fallen into place on the main road before the storm had hit, Finch was at the very beginning of his. Even as they now sat and ate supper, his lithe frame and various signs of poor health were evident. She did not intend to ask too much - apparently, the dungeons that he had stayed in were the last places that health was a priority.

His earlier grimace of pain was not unseen by her silver eyes. Even as it appeared he tried to hold it together when he sat, Ashira continued to watch and witnessed the small signs that he was struggling. His hunger was obvious as he scarfed down his soup, making it disappear in a matter of seconds. She assessed that they didn’t feed people well in the dungeons - not a surprise - and that he was overdue for a good meal. As she laid these observations to the side, Finch answered her question.

‘You would have to ask Adamh why. Or Jacob, or any of the others who - ‘ A brief pause, as he reflected, before he continued. ‘I’m not your enemy,’ he clarified, ‘At least, I hope I’m not.’ She ate some more of her soup, chewing on the pieces of meat that enriched the flavor before she swallowed and answered. “Politics do not interest me,” she stated. “They have been around before I existed and will continue after I have departed this life. Any choices made by those involved, I am not a part.” She was meant to live a life that fate and destiny wanted her to have. ”You are not my enemy, as I am not yours.”

The conversation slowly trickled, like syrup from a maple tree, as Ashira finished her soup and rose to grasp Finch’s bowl. Without asking him, she went back and refilled it, bringing back a steaming second serving for him to enjoy. With it, she had placed a few thick slices of sourdough bread, previously cut before the soup was finished. Once it was all laid out and she had resettled, Finch asked, ‘Are you this nice to everyone, or am I just lucky?’ A sideways smile caught Ashira’s eye and she ate some more of her soup before answering. “When someone is in need of assistance, I do what must be done.” Watching him with her silver gaze, she continued. “Whether or not trust is established and a relationship forms, that is based on if it’s meant to happen.”

Ashira got up to make another serving for herself, paws quiet on the hardwood floor as she poured more soup into her bowl. As she walked back, Finch fumbled, ‘Um, thank you – for all of this. Do you - uh, do you cook? Is that your thing?’ She didn’t break his gaze as she sat upon the comfortable cushion, but she lowered her eyes to the bowl as she ate. After a minute or two, she answered. “You’re welcome,” she began, before Finch pushed ahead. ‘I mean, uh, what is it that you do...?’ Her ears perked and she looked up at him again before speaking. ”My current purpose in this life is to help others heal.” Her thick tail curled around her hind flank. ”I do it everyday and I don’t tire from it.” Her version of ‘I enjoy my job’, so to speak. The ball of conversation was now in her court and she mirrored his inquiry. “What is it that you do?”

  

  

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I'm still running against the wind

”You are not my enemy, as I am not yours.” Finch’s head dipped in a slight nod, an unconscious sigh of relief parting dark lips. ”I’m grateful to hear that.” She wasn’t political – somehow, and baffling to Finch, she had managed to remain disengaged from the conflict. He felt some semblance of envy, for he had been in the thick of it, and it had all been for nothing. But more than jealousy, he felt relief: that she was not going to judge him when she learned more about him, and because she had been spared the violence and trauma of the battlefield. He couldn’t picture someone as gentle as her in the midst of slaughter.

Spirit moved with the grace of flowing water, filling his bowl again with stew as he merely watched. She procured bread, and not the stale, moldy stuff fed prisoners. She returned to her place at the table to respond to his curiosity: “When someone is in need of assistance, I do what must be done.” Both were true… she was this helpful to everyone, but he was still lucky, even if he was not unique among the many patients she had undoubtedly healed. She commented on the nature of relationships and trust; Finch hoped that there was something about him that she could find trustworthy, as well, despite his rough condition.

Seeing her silver sights still settled on his sapphire stare, he was swift to look away as if he been caught staring (which he had been). Finch was silently grateful that the monochrome maiden had not noticed that his gaze had lingered a bit too long on her face. ”My current purpose in this life is to help others heal. I do it everyday and I don’t tire from it.” He gazed upon the spectral femme with newfound admiration. ”That makes sense,” he murmured quietly. Someone who made people better rather than hurting them. A wolf who healed wounds rather than causing them. After what felt like a lifetime of conflict, she was a reprieve from the rage of an unfriendly world.

Then, the attention returned to Finch as the woman inquired: “What is it that you do?” Now it was an emaciated brute’s turn to fall into silence. In truth, he was an enemy to some: an enemy of the wealthy, a class which Finch despised more than the soldiers themselves, for without the rich, there would be no need for war… He understood that now, too late. The interests of both sides had won… or lost, depending on how one viewed the outcome. But it had all been a waste of time and of lives.

Finch remained thoughtfully quiet now as his beleaguered mind sought an answer that was both honest – this Spirit deserved that at the very least – and cautious. His voice dropped an octave, secretively sharing, ”Before the war, I was self-employed,” he began. It sounded innocent enough. ”My family and I, before the war, before… all of it,” he muttered, train of thought threatening to derail before he shook his head and refocused. ”We worked together. When someone had too much of something, we helped to… correct the balance of prosperity, so to speak.” In other words: they stole from the wealthy to feed the poor, which had been his family for too long. They had managed to crawl out of poverty and obscurity to become fairly well known in the Highlands. But that felt far away now…


”So, uh, what do I owe you? I have no coin right now, given – well, you know.” An attempt at a chuckle turned instead into a fit of coughs that left him gasping for air before he could continue: ”But if that’s what you desire, I can find it. Just name your price. I’m indebted to you and your kindness.” He added a phrase his mother had often used: ”As we say in the north, ar scáth a chéile a mhaireann na daoine: Under the shelter of each other, people survive. That's you, Spirit. Shelter from the storm.” Both literally and figuratively, he was discovering.



@Ashira

Ashira

Politics was something that Ashira did not care for in the slightest. She stayed away from them as fate intended, protecting her in ways that she would not question. If there ever was a time when she would begin to fear and worry about her destined path, she would know that her life was near its end. Still, the chances of her being in that state of mind - ever - were very slim.

'I'm grateful to hear that,' he stated, receiving a nod from the monochrome woman. His next words were agreeable with her statement about her job - 'That makes sense,' - before they were pulled to more bites of the bread and sips of the soup. All in all, a pleasant evening that was not expected, yet welcomed, from Ashira's point of view.

The steam from the bowl rose around her face and she listened as the conversation moved towards another topic: her patient. 'Before the war, I was self-employed.' Ashira's ears perked forward slightly as she gave Finch the attention that was required. 'My family and I, before the war, before… all of it,' A shake of his head, before refocusing and saying, 'We worked together. When someone had too much of something, we helped to… correct the balance of prosperity, so to speak.' He gave a pause, intending to collect himself as she absorbed the information with two blinks. "A noble cause, though possibly dangerous," she stated. Facts were facts; who was she to ignore them if they helped carry the conversation?

They did not tarry on the subject of Robin Hood life for long, though it would have led to many small attempts of chatting and observation rolled into one. 'So, uh, what do I owe you? I have no coin right now, given – well, you know.' His chuckle attempt turned into a series of coughs, but as Ashira rose to stand by and assess, they seemed to fall away. 'But if that’s what you desire, I can find it. Just name your price. I’m indebted to you and your kindness.' Ashira only watched him as he pressed onward, relaying some facts of his heritage and customs. 'As we say in the north, ar scáth a chéile a mhaireann na daoine: Under the shelter of each other, people survive. That's you, Spirit. Shelter from the storm.'

The way Finch spoke in his native tongue was warm and possibly a pleasurable feeling for Ashira; outwardly, though, she did not show it. Looking him over with a set of keen eyes, Ashira did not make him wait to give him an answer. "Coin is not a necessary currency for my current services, Finch,"she said. Noting how he swayed slightly in his seat and his eyes beginning to droop from fatigue and a full, warm belly, she stepped back slightly to give him room to breathe. "That can be discussed later, once you've had time to recuperate."

Her paws carried her towards a set of drawers not too far from the kitchen, pulling out a few herbs that smelled enticing and calming. "Once you lay down, I will provide you with these. Their taste varies with each wolf, but you will begin to fall into a slumber that provides healing for your body, mind, and spirit." She watched him with a bright, silver gaze, intending for him to do what she wanted in order to help him mend faster than before.

  

  

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I'm still running against the wind

Nothing. Her features communicated nothing at all, her only reaction a couple of blinks as he admitted his somewhat sordid past. "A noble cause, though possibly dangerous.” He acknowledged with a small laugh, ”It was. It was like a game, though. Not scary.” It was a wonder his protective mother had ever allowed him to take part in their forays into the illegal, but he had been so small and so cute, it had worked fine. And once he wasn’t small or cute anymore, he was big and intimidating enough to get his prize without much fighting necessary.

A healer who didn’t require payment? Finch’s features showed his confusion briefly. Theirs was a world where coin meant prestige, and most would give anything to acquire it. The monochrome wolfess moved away to give him space, but he had preferred her closer proximity, though he didn’t dare say it aloud. She was stoic in a way even Finch had never experienced, and he was scarcely expressive himself. What did she think of him? There was simply no telling.

He abandoned his twice-emptied bowl to settle back into the bed, and his body hurt with every movement, reminding him why he was here in the first place. He observed as she procured the tools of her trade, and his nostrils flared at the wonderful scent, and her even tones explained: “... You will begin to fall into a slumber that provides healing for your body, mind, and spirit."


”You’ll, uh, have to forgive me. My memory isn’t quite working right.” He smiled sheepishly, feeling more than a little dumb. But given all that his brain had endured during the torturous imprisonment, could anyone blame him for being forgetful? ”What did you say your name is again?” This time, he would repeat her name in his thoughts until it was cemented there. But in his mind, she was already his Spirit – well, not his Spirit. Just… Spirit.

The drumming within his skull was growing more intense now and he winced. Finch would have to push aside his interest to learn more about the mysterious healer. ”Don’t feel obligated to stay. I can find my way out of here easy enough. Then it’s off to the border and hoping for the best.” He had no home to return to in the Highlands, but still, he felt the draw luring him back to the place where he had been a child years before. Before the war, before his family disintegrated. Finch was certain he had been happy then, in a way he had never been able to replicate.

Beyond the walls of the cabin it was still cold and merciless, but inside Finch felt at peace. As the lure of sleep became too great, a giant yawn parted his jaws. He looked at Ashira from beneath heavy lids for a final time with a genuine smile. ”Oíche mhaith.” He offered in his native tongue, before repeating it in hers: ”Goodnight, Spirit.”

[exit via peaceful sleeps]



@Ashira

Ashira

Their conversation had moved along nicely, bringing their encounter to a close as Finch moved towards the bed. After he settled down, he had taken the herbs gratefully and not wasted time in successfully chewing and swallowing. He had easily laughed and said, It was. It was like a game, though. Not scary. She met his gaze and stated, I will have to take your word.

As Finch began to let the herbs take effect, he looked up to Ashira and admitted, You’ll, uh, have to forgive me. My memory isn’t quite working right...What did you say your name is again? She slowly paused in her movements and gave him a ghost of a smile. Ashira, she stated. Ashira Lanolin. Her last name was not the most important tidbit of information, but it seemed suiting to include it for this introduction.

Finch gave an offer on his behalf shortly after. Don’t feel obligated to stay. I can find my way out of here easy enough. Then it’s off to the border and hoping for the best. The nurse nature in her felt a tug to protest, but she did not show it on her outward appearance. I may very well be asleep when you decide to venture in the morning. She honestly stated. If you are gone by the time I am roused, I will know you have chosen to depart.

She watched as his gaze became glossy and he lowered his head before giving a genuine grin and a look beneath heavy lids as he spoke in his native tongue, following up with Goodnight, Spirit. Good night, Finch, she returned, ears perking as he fell into a steady rhythm of snores before she, in turn, padded towards her adjoining quarters and found reprieve in her oncoming slumber.

-EXIT Ashira-

  

  

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