until the end

that's where we begin

She had been gone a long while now, lost in seclusion and finding the woman she had once been. She felt liberated -- freed from her crazed behaviors and erratic, depressive tendencies; she was closer to the past creature she had been, bold and brash and brave, having found a sort of happy medium between the two. But she could not live on her own forever; her life was incomplete without Deteste, and she could not survive indefinitely without him. It was only after many months on her own that she felt well enough to return, slipping along these familiar grounds and hoping that he was still here -- still waiting for her. A part of her would not have been surprised to find him gone, and as she edged alongside the familiar borderline, she was relieved (enthralled, even) to detect his scent upon it, fresh in an indicator that he was still here, though if he lurked still for her or for another reason she could not know. It was with caution that she slid among the trees, weaving among them like an old friend, alert to her surroundings and silently seeking out the man who had always given her faith -- and given her life.

Another night. The winter made each additional one longer, colder, darker. Deteste did well to keep himself busy throughout the day. His new position certainly helped him keep his mind of the frozen meal that awaited him the secluded den he had once shared with Laxago. An entire season had passed without her and he wondered how many would continue to pass. He wondered what it would be like when he finally stopped leaving meals for her in the den. He wondered what it would be like when he grew old and died a loveless bachelor. The thought was funny, it caused his lips to grow tight in what could be a confused smile if his effort were greater. But his spirit was not in it. It was not a joke to him. He yawned as he neared the end of his patrol. Now that he was Sol he had taken up a second night route. It always tired him just enough to sleep without investing too much thought into Laxago. He often felt guilt that he had not pursued her but the Ludicael held great meaning for him and he could not abandon his responsibilities, especially not now.


When he arrived at the den the pheasant was frozen through. He was not particularly hungry and he believed the rigid body would keep till morning. By the sound of the crickets outside he knew that morning was not far. He had done the loop twice with the second pass extending beyond the borderlands in the hope of discovering some sign of Laxago. However as winter drew on the snow became heavier and it was difficult to track anything when the blanket was so often, freshly laid. Determined not to focus on his disappointment he allowed his thoughts to linger on Jupiter and wondered if his children looked much like her. He was eager to visit her but understood her need for distance. They were only just born. He was rather excited to have young ones in the Ludicael and he would treat the whelps as if they could be his own. Now he smiled. His expression tired but warm. He thought about resting and adjusted his body accordingly but could find no comfort. Instead he slid out, invisible in the mangrove's nightly shade with only his breath as a visible entity, frequent and white as the snow that fell silently around him.

until the end

that's where we begin

She followed, tracked, sought him out in the most defiant of manners, caring little if she was still welcomed or wanted here. She cared only if she was wanted by him, craved him, and yet knew he may not desire her any longer -- may have moved on, forgotten her, been glad to see her go. But such thoughts would only cause her agony, send her into a detrimental downward spiral, and so she shoved them away, continued walking, dancing through the pale snows that blended against her fur and made her little more than a wraith upon the earth, easy to miss, easy to ignore. She hunted fervently, determined and eager, and it was only as she saw a shadow -- a haunted, blackened ghost -- that she froze, slid to a halt, turned towards that shape and stared, her pale gaze widening, ears twisting forth. It took only a moment's glance to know that this was the one she sought, but now that she had found him, she seemed lost, uncertain what to do, uncertain if he still held any love for her. Her muscles trembled and quaked, quivering with the urge to go to him, but she remains a statue, lurking in the forest's shadows and silently hoping she would be noticed -- approached, wanted, loved.

He thought he could see her in the distance but he disregarded the sight as an illusion. A glint of her jade eyes here, another of her white pelt there. He remained still as a statue and watched the progressing night in an attempt to dissipate the increasingly fabricating hallucination before him. He watched the falling snow stab darkness through the mist of his hot breath. He watched the mangroves bend under the winter wind, the light dashing brokenly between the matted canopy. The scenery did little to halt the sight of her. In a final attempt to ignore the ghost he closed his eyes. He may have even held his breath. He especially did not believe the entity for the image was a much younger image of the Laxago he knew. Her pelt was immaculate and life was in her eyes.


Upon reopening his eyes she was still there. Completely there. Her white pelt blending with the freshly laid snow but glowing almost like silver in the moonlight. Her eyes alluring and akin to spring in their intensity of green. He could not resist the illusion now. He would give in. He knew when morning came and the illusion was gone that he would be able to attend his duties, regardless of tiredness. He approached with an almost confident affect. Not a moment had passed where he believed she could be real and he would approach the matter as such. He did not pause once they were less than a stride away but entered her space directly, resting his tired head against her neck. She was warm in all that cold. Never before had he had an illusion where the physicality of the imagined thing was so strong. All others were vivid only in vision. Laxago he crooned, the words sliding from his lips like honey. All the desire and longing and love he had ever held for the woman was manifest in that single uttered name.

until the end

that's where we begin

She swayed, wary and nervous, watching him with those pale eyes, and though he had spotted her, she did not believe he saw her. He moved like a wraith, mechanic, methodical but disbelieving, accepting her presence as a ghost -- a particle in his imagination. How was she to react to this version of him, the haunted state of his stare arousing her nerves, tempting her caution as she quivered in her place, her heart breaking in that instant that they touched. She leaned into him, burrowed her face in the soft fur of his chest with a force that she hoped might prove she was real -- I am here, I am here! "Please don't hate me," she murmured, a hoarse whine, a plea for all the affection he had given her before and that she had ignored all those years, lost in a daze of emotionless reverie. I am real. I love you. Her heart thuded insistently against her chest, her breath fogged against the frosty air and every inch of her screamed her desire to be loved, to make him believe she was not an illusion -- she had returned for him, but oh, she had left for him too, but she wondered now: had she lost him in the process?

Please don't hate me. she spoke. Though the words certainly roused his awareness it was not until he could feel the rapid patter of her heart against his chest that he realized she was real. Overwhelmed with emotion he could not react in any sensible way. He immediately began to groom her, sweeping delicately and lovingly with the grain of her pelt. She was clean and combed already but he only wished to be with her, to touch her, to be close to her in every possible way. He could hear himself whining like a puppy as he did this, each stoke becoming deeper and rougher with each turn until he gently took her scruff in his teeth and pulled her even closer to himself. Hate you, Laxago? Hate you? How could I ever hate you. his words were almost feverish but he believed in her presence with all of his heart. He could not bear for her to leave him even an inch when they had parted for so long now and he wrapped a forelimb around her back, pulling her closer yet and immersing himself in her snowy pelt and scent. Don't you ever leave me again Laxago. I would not survive. He pleaded, jowls resting behind her left ear and the words spoken softly.

until the end

that's where we begin

She craves him, needs his being in every thud of her persistent heart, her vicious desire to be his and only his for eternity -- as she already had been. There is no hesitation when he drew her to him, her lithe body leaning into him, pressing against him as fully as she could as she tucked her skull neatly against the hollow curve of his throat, needing him to know she is real. She will never leave again, never, for how could she leave him in such pain that she could feel resonating throughout his body -- how could she ever survive such guilt or loneliness? She whines fervently, nipping at his chest, tugging at his fur with an insatiable need to prove her love, whimpering when he wraps a forepaw about her withers and drags her closer, her haunches hitting the earth so that she could press against his torso, her jaws tilting up, tongue spewing against the contour of his jawline. "I won't, I promise," she croons, meaning it in every heated breath that slips from her jaws, her ears peeled back against her skull in submission. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry. I had to," she murmurs, leaning her face against the side of his cheek. Don't you see, I could never have been strong again if I let you continue to care for my every move. She had needed distance, a way to determine her own worth -- to remember who she had once been, and now recalling her past strength, she had returned to him, and never again would she go.

I understand. He spoke, staring into the darkness of the mangroves without seeing what was there. He found it necessary to pull away from Laxago to hold her close in her eyes for she was the only slight he wanted in this moment and forever. She was different now. Not an illusion and no the shell that he had care for, for so many years now. This was the woman he had met and the end of his violent past. Strong, beautiful and capable. He wondered what would become of her now. If she would make a title for herself among the Ludicael. His happiness was immobilizing and he could only find the will to press his crown against her evenly, his tongue slipping from his jowls to gently kiss her brow. You are so beautiful Laxago. Can you see it now? He spoke, the sentence melting into a muffled whine.


The season had passed slowly without her and there was much that they had to talk about. He had been promoted to Sol and he was prideful of his position and the wolves whose home he shared. But the promotion had been short lived after the birth of Jupiter's pups. He would be moving to Amenti as the Master of those lands. It was a temporarily displacement but he wanted, more than anything, for Laxago to go with him. It was place where Deteste would be alienated and. after settling in a place with such amiable wolves, he would be greatly challenged by the change in culture. He was dutiful to Jupiter and he would be dutiful to Medusa. He knew Laxago would not like this repeated allegiance to women she did not know. But he also knew that whatever imagined threat she may thread from these changes that they would motivate her to go with him. So he spoke. There are many things we need to discuss. with a serious but gentle timbre.