She would slowly pace towards the lake, holding back tears in her sapphire eyes. Winter wasn't her mate anymore.. He was the white wolf painted in blood's prisoner. Her stomach had recently begun to swell, though it was slight and unnoticed by anyone but herself. She had left Sven in the den this morning to mourn in solitude. These pups that were stirring inside of her.. This life. They would never have a father.. Or even know who he was. That's all she had ever wanted if she were to ever have pups.. A family with a father and mother. Something she never had. And, although they would have a loving mother, they wouldn't have a daddy.. A papa. And, he would never get to see his little princesses or little casanovas. And then, there was Misha. She had fallen for him so easily, he would always be remembered in her heart. To her, he was no prisoner.. He was a prince, her prince.. That would never come back. It was unlike any other pain before, even worse than the time when her old mate betrayed her. Winter hadn't left Misha, no.. He was taken away from her. She had done everything she could to possibly keep her mate free, but now he belonged to the other male. She would collapse onto the soft grass, tears flooding her eyes as she would lay there and cry, the tearshed would seem never-ending as she would attempt to cry her pain out. Life was so unfair. She was falling to pieces.

You will be aware of an absence, presently,

This was not one of the girl's favored biomes. Mud, black as tar, sucked relentlessly at her tired feet as if each tug away were only more encouragement. Circe was ready to leave, having traversed the majority of the watery grounds when a form solidified in the distance. Jowls part to taste the breeze. The air is stagnant and wet. It is difficult to determine just what this creature is, wallowing in that damp dirt. The girl's heart flutters with excitement and misunderstanding. Injured, perhaps dying, her company would make a sizable meal. Circe treads towards that dark, distant forum and as she approaches finds only disappointment. Her tail whips about with agitation. Another wolf. Yet perhaps this one is unwell. Circe is not uncomfortable eating her own kind but she cannot determine what has made this creature so ill for the woman appears otherwise healthy, even robust. A short bark echoes from her jowls the way a buzzard caws at its prey to test the waters.

Growing beside you, like a tree,