As Alacritis was beset by the evening shades a single shadow traveled the area, at ease in the encroaching darkness soon to encompass the continent. The man?s body slipped from the paddock, a silent fixture gliding among the tallest reeds and pausing every so often to puzzle over the sedated gusts for the scents they bore. It was a wondrous night to be alive, to be a wolf, to be in control of ones existence and thereby his or her fortune. It was a marvelously addicting game of chance that excited the blood and coaxed the unwary into dangerous games where the victor may not always be the most auspicious. He however was luckier than most by a mile. Nibelheim had journeyed the distance from the crypts in the Far East to attend to his self-appointed duties as sentinel, companion and caregiver. It had been nearly a week since he and his new acquisition ? for he truly did regard her as little more than a quaint trinket he?d picked up off the ground ? had taken up residence in the cave systems of Stylianos Crypt. It had been an ideal location as any, spacious and protected from the winter elements. A little musty for his tastes but nothing that could not be improved overtime. The male?s easy lope was not without purpose, he had come with the intention to do more than gaze at the mottled gray sky above his head. He was hunting for two now. Cashmere, his little libeling with her many scars and abject fear of all that was new, was still not permitted to leave the caves they called home. She was too weak, too vulnerable, much too easy to manipulate and thus needed to be hidden until he was certain her allegiance rested with only him. While her wellbeing was also at the forefront of his mind it was her loyalty he hoped to nurture just as much as her health. Nose to the ground the ocher beast let his ears rotate, alerted to any noise that might prove a worthy prospect, The Serpent Plains, not one to disappoint, were lush with plant life and thus equally abundant in prey. Nibelheim inched lower to the ground as the trails he had been following freshened, the sound of rustling grasses causing his breath to hitch. A buck, aged and weary from the rut, had hobbled away from its herd ? presumably having been defeated by some young upstart. It was well past its prime if its grayed muzzle was any indication. The thing was missing a horn, limping, a perfect target if he played his hand right. And being that this was Nibelheim, the conniving consort to all things dark and menacing, he was well within the right to declare the hunt a success. He prowled closer, quick to close the distance but forcing himself to slow just enough so that he didn?t cause a disturbance that would spook his quarry. It remained unaware to his presence until the last second where the large brute emerged and lunged, mouth wrapping around it?s thick neck. But his overconfidence proved to be as much a hassle as it could be an asset and he miscalculated ? a rare occasion indeed. The buck, for all its wisdom, was not to be tested. Injured though it was and only having one antler, it swung its head and nailed its attacker in the shoulder. Nibelheim barked at the sudden pain, inadvertently releasing his prey. His shoulder bleed lightly from where the antlers prongs had sliced his flesh but he didn?t care to think too much of it. He would not go home empty-handed. With a vengeful snarl he chased the retreating animal stumbling across the plains, grabbing at its heel and yanking with all his might. It stalled the beast but the stubborn thing remained standing, kicking awkwardly in the hopes of dislodging him. Again Nibelheim was almost nicked and again the male changed tactics, swaying between its airborne limbs and ducking toward its front where he again latched onto its throat ? this time on the side with the missing antler. Satisfaction trickled into his mouth, hot, red and coppery in taste as he fought the animal into submission, claiming it?s life and his prize as the last rays of light were snuffed out. A day ended, a life lost, and a victory had Speech,

PLEASE LOVE ME, HATE ME, KISS ME.


I AM PUSHING MY LUCK

It had only been a few days, a week maybe when she was graced with finding someone that was a dime a dozen. If she had continued to slumber in the silvering grass she might has wasted away, and now she was feeling much more alive. Emotions were still running on a repented path of destruction, instead of feeling the air of constant fear she was starting to find the reason everyone in her pack seemed to look so relaxed when they were not antagonizing her. Relaxation was something she found to be something to revel in but she still could not get use to not having to be on edge. Her mind was working on overdrive, finding it difficult to even sleep when this newly found companion of hers was away.



The feeling of eyes was a constant state of paranoia; echoes from the crypt seemed to be a perfect way to make her hairs perked up on her spine. The thought made her shake from head to toe as she wandered away from the place she was told not to move from. A strange feeling seemed to take a hold of her mind, she felt as if she was disobeying and that was something she could not shake away from her mind. It bounced around as she collected a few ingredients to start an old collection she once had in her old pack, but as her newly made basket like creation started to bend under the grasses and herbs she collect that she realized that she was lost.



For a moment the child gentle placed the large orange-colored leaf next to her pale colored paws, looking down at the her collection. A shiver racked her spine as fear began to saturate her skin like an old embrace, how was she going to find her way back to the place she was suppose to call home. A gentle whimper escaped her lips before she gentle mouthed the wooden handle of her basket.



It was not until a sudden bark of pain rang out that she moved once more, though it caused her to jump out of her skin. It was followed by a strange sound of a dying creature but that did not stop her feet from moving quickly to the location of the bark. When her paws stopped she was left in the face of the one she wanted to find and yet her ears fell flat on her skull and her air of submission was regained as she lowered her head with a slow approach. A gentle whine came from her lips as she finally stopped on the other side of his newly prized possession, hoping that she would not be in trouble for wandering out alone on a day that was already in the process of ending. Please let this not be a time she would be in trouble, a time where she would not be in pain the thought of old habit not yet dead.

Nibelheim?s fangs were still deeply embedded in the buck?s torn esophagus when the familiar, crisp white form bobbed into sight. There were no outward expressions for her to divine the wolf?s mood outside of his general tension from a freshly ended hunt but that was not to say he was internally composed as well. No, Nibelheim was furious. The only thing saving Cashmere was that she might still be useful to him and that he had mind enough to withhold his fury over her disobedience. He?d told her explicitly to remain in the crypt, to stay where she would be relatively safe and where her capture or conversion to another?s group could take place. She had disobeyed him so readily that he began to question whether or not the former omega had truly suffered the lengths to make her utterly submissive. Or perhaps he was being too lenient with her all this time and now she believed herself on the same tier as him? The thought made his eyes visibly narrow on the sniveling mess in front of him, begging for his forgiveness and attention. 'They didn't beat her hard enough...' He growled to himself but decided it was best to see what had prompted her decision. Slowly, more to keep from lashing at the female than to assure himself of his prey?s death, Nibelheim pulled his teeth from the buck. ?Cazmere?? Soft limericks asked, barely a whispering in the night with how he feigned confusion. Even after a weeks time the foreigner had yet to grasp the syllables of her name and resorted to the odd pronuciation rather than attempting to correct it or otherwise made use of his favored nickname - liebling - when he spoke. ?What are you doing here? Is everything alright?? Stepping away from the buck to attend to her, the weighty mask of concern etched over his visage as he moved to her side, rasping his tongue comfortingly over her ears as he?d grown accustomed to doing whenever she was within touching distance. Speech,