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‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎𝐄𝐋𝐎𝐖𝐄𝐍'𝐒 𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐒 𝐋𝐀𝐂𝐄 𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐎 𝐑𝐎𝐍𝐘𝐍'𝐒 𝐅𝐔𝐑 𝐀𝐒 𝐇𝐄 𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐈𝐋𝐒 𝐁𝐄𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐃 𝐀𝐑𝐈𝐎𝐍 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐄𝐀'𝐒 𝐖𝐎𝐋𝐕𝐄𝐒. How they convinced Morrow to completely usurp his original plans goes beyond Elowen's comprehension. Elowen and Morrow might be strangers, but the alpha of the pack is a creature of independence. He loathes the idea of asking for assistance, or letting his betas step in for support.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Or worse, letting his fated mate tag along.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Still, for some bizarre reason, Elowen finds herself amongst them, flipping Morrow's decision like a switch. Ever since she followed the sound of his violin to his bedroom, their tether has been cackling like a midnight fire. He hasn't shut her out, hasn't blocked his mind from her. But he refuses to come within sight of where his betas run on the ground below. He remains in the sky, exactly where Elowen would be if her wing wasn't wounded by a terran iron arrow.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎The betas left at nightfall, as to Morrow's orders. The were thrive under the light of the crescent moon, gaining momentum under its lackluster beams. The Tabrien meadows slowly evolve into a glossy woodland of shadows and deciduous brush. The scent of oak wafts through the stilled breeze, reminding her of the Brecian forests at the base of old Reovell, the place she harboured in after the terrans eradicated her kind.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Her fingers dig into Ronyn's fur at the thought, and the sound that vibrates from his wolf is enough to reassure her that she's alright. She never feels like she is, because she isn't. This— this is only a step towards what she desires. Freedom. A chance to have the breeze carry her through her turmoils. Only now, she'll accept every warning she receives to protect her wings. The ache in her wing is a reminder of her foolishness.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Twilight shifts into the dead cold of night, and Elowen must've drifted off when she awakens curled up against Ronyn's wolf. She lays against his side, her breathing matched to his pulse. Beneath her skin, her creature falls captive to Ronyn's embrace, for she knows he's not a threat. Ronyn never was, and never will be.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎A branch snaps, awakening Ronyn from beneath her. An ire growl rumbles from him as she hears a sharp snap of his wolf's jaws. She peaks an eye open as Ronyn snaps his vicious bite, attempting to scare away the intruder, as well as another thwack of a branch breaking beneath laced books.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"Easy there," a familiar voice soothes, his voice a strange yet beckoning lullaby. "Just making sure you all haven't fucked things up."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎She peaks an eye open. Although the foliage remains dense, Elowen catches Morrow's silhouette kneeling close to her own. A calloused palm scratches behind Ronyn's ears, his wolf giddy with delight as those slow calculated fingers stroke earthen brown fur.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"There's something I have to do before we get to Yestrea," Morrow whispers to him. "You can handle it the rest of the way."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Ronyn's wolf growls in agreement.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎The tender touch of Morrow's strokes against Ronyn's ears only lasts for a fragment of time before those meadowed irises lock on Elowen.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"Sparrow," he murmurs, his voice drawn long. She closes her eyes, perhaps expecting a brush of his lips, but when she props an eye open to gaze upon the alpha, the shadow she's come to know disappears. In fact, the night remains as if he'd never come. All that remains is herself and Ronyn, as well as Arion and Cordea's wolves snoring serenely within the thicket.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Elowen nestles herself back into Ronyn's fur, falling back into a deep sleep until the sun kisses her cheeks. Morning light, a reminder of the new beginning set before her. She basks in the morning serenity, knowing that their brief pause to recuperate has been drawn out too long. Without speaking a word to the other wolves, Elowen slings herself back onto Ronyn's back, knowing she can replenish herself with food once they reach Yestrea. Without a sound, without a hitch.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Elowen spreads her wings as Ronyn's speed picks up. Her white feathers dance in the wind, and she can't stop the thrill of laughter escaping her lungs. Gods, she needed this.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎A stream comes into sight, and the were slow just enough to replenish their thirst. Ronyn tosses Elowen off his back, his joints cracking at the alleviated weight. She can't help but stare at him as he saunters towards the water, shifting back into his bare human form.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"Trousers?" Ronyn asks.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Avoiding his gaze, Elowen opens the rucksack tucked around her and tosses him the loose slacks. Since she's the one who can't shift into a wolf, the betas entrusted her with their minimal possessions and provisions. Cordea and Arion shift back to their human forms as well, also requesting their garments.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"We should be crossing into Yestrea soon," Arion informs the group. While Ronyn assumes most of Morrow's authority, Arion becomes a stellar navigator. For most of the journey, he's the one that takes the forefront while Cordea, Ronyn, and Elowen follow.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"We'll know when we cross into it," Ronyn grins as he says this. "The fae will want to get a piece of this."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Cordea pushes his bicep. "I pity the poor soul who is mated to you."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"I don't need your pity."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"You need something," Cordea mumbles. "Therapy, perhaps?"

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Ronyn shrugs. "Don't we all?"

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎The three betas chat at the edge of the stream, lounging in moist soil without a care in the world. Elowen watches from a distance, sitting alone at the base of a towering oak and studying the betas. The regal elegance of the were contrasts their adoration for the wild, and it becomes quite apparent by the way the three don't give a damn about the mud on their clothes. It's one of the things she's come to love about the were—that and their indefinite loyalty to one another. The pack depends on all within it, so unlike the solitude Elowen came to know.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Except, there's a gnawing in her chest when she sees them, the insecurity that she doesn't belong. This stint in the wilderness hasn't persuaded her to stay at the Tabrien palace long term, but Morrow and the betas insist that she should due to the plethora of threats. The terrans, the blight, the darkness billowing like fog amongst uncharted territory.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎They're supposed to be watching her, but instead they engross themselves in their own conversations. They haven't discussed freely in hours due to the travelling. Would they notice if she decided to vanish? It would allow her to clear her thoughts... or perhaps run away for good.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎She rises to her feet—bare, as she detests shoes—and turns from the group. A beat of silence passes by her, then another, and another—

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"Where're you going, half-breed?"

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Curses to Ronyn.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"To take a piss," Elowen lies, keeping her teeth slightly gritted. "I can't just raise my leg by a tree like a hound."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎R‎‎‏‏‎onyn grunts. "Sometimes we choose pretty rocks."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"So can you please just," she gestures with her hands for him to turn around. "Just let me have some privacy."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"Can't do that. You can't leave my sight. Morrow's orders."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"Morrow also told you to stay in Tabrien, and you insisted you come along to Yestrea."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎He smirks. "You're so fucking stubborn sometimes."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"And?"

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"I love it," he winks as he says this, then turns to Arion and Cordea. "The half-breed and I are gonna disappear for a few minutes. Bathroom break."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Arion flashes a thumbs up while Cordea gives an assertive nod. Elowen, on the other hand, remains far from impressed. She doesn't actually need to relieve herself, and even if she did, she still doesn't need Ronyn's curious hazel eyes observing her.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"Let's go find you a pretty rock," Ronyn grins, wandering away from the stream.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"I'm not doing this if you're watching me."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"Like I want to watch?"

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"Sounds like you do."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎He laughs at this and continues to distance himself from Cordea and Arion, never taking his gaze fully from Elowen as if he knew she would run. She follows him until he stops, pointing his finger towards an old willow. Heavy branches dip down towards the earth, cloaking the trunk beneath its canopy.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Elowen flashes him a playful smile. "You promised me a pretty rock."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"Oh, so now you're eager to piss on a rock," he sets his palm on her lower back, guiding her closer to the willow. "You have two minutes to do your business, else I'm coming for you."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"Only two minutes?" Elowen sets her hands on her hips, lifting her gaze up towards Ronyn. He's quite tall, perhaps almost as towering as Morrow. "What if I'm on my monthly cycle?"

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Ronyn leans in, sniffing the air around her as a low growl erupts from his chest. "You're not. That was two weeks ago, but you are ovulating."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"You can smell that?"

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"Most of the were can."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"Can Morrow?"

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"Fuck yeah, so don't be surprised if he acts on it."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Elowen's cheeks remain flushed as Ronyn nearly pushes her towards the willow, but Elowen digs her heels into the soil, preventing her from moving another inch. Ronyn cocks his head in that charming way of his at her refusal, his smirk transforming into a full-blown infectious grin.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"Don't be so scared about Morrow. You've been in the palace for weeks, and he hasn't tried to mark you yet."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Well, that's not entirely true at all. Morrow has tried to sink his teeth into her, to claim her amidst kisses and touches. What stops them is their resistance to the bond. Somehow they've managed to stay on the chaste side of their matebond, but that's been on the brink of shattering... multiple times.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"What you should be worried about is meeting the fae royals," Ronyn says, thankfully switching the subject. "King Novus has never taken kindly to Morrow, but with you and your cute little fae ears in the mix, it might persuade him to trust us."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"It's not like I'm much of a worthy fae to begin with," she mutters. "I'm probably the most useless one in existence."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"Bullshit. You probably got some form of magic trapped inside of you."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎She gazes down at her palms. Her porcelain skin reveals blue veins on her inner wrist, and she wonders if those veins truly carry the magical blood of her father. She wishes she knew him, wishes he could show her how to harness her dormant abilities.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Ronyn growls and brushes his temple against the crown of her head, a tender brief caress that ends too soon. She looks up to meet those hazel irises, basking in the warmth of the embers in them. His fingertips brush over her cheek as he flashes a sweet smile on his lips.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"It won't be as bad as it seems," Ronyn murmurs. "If the fae adore me, they'll fall head over heels for you, half-breed. You know I have."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Elowen blushes at the remark, feeling a strange sensation inside of her chest as her inner creature pounces on his wolfish aura, affectionately. She canters back from Ronyn, almost put off by the submission of her creature to him, but how can she not? His aura shines so bright. He's pure joy and optimism, a sunny day compared to the storm that brews around Morrow.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Ronyn crooks a brow. "You gonna go piss now?"

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Right. Her little white lie failed to work as an attempt to escape. She dashes off towards the willow, hiding amidst the branches, but never shaking the feel of Ronyn's presence. She might as well try to empty her bladder while she can, even if the beta feels inclined to observe through drooping willow branches.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎She taps her fingers, counting seconds. Her creature prowls around Ronyn's aura, knowing full well that he's nearby...

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Until her creature rushes back to hiding, seizing her lungs and accelerating her rapid heartbeat. Ronyn's aura disappears completely. Gone. No traces of his presence.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Elowen pulls back the branches of the willow, her silver hues scanning the forest for signs of her trusted beta. He's not where she left him.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Could he possibly be letting her... free?

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎No, that can't be true. Ronyn wouldn't turn his back on Morrow twice in a matter of days. Besides, Ronyn isn't what you would describe as 'subtle.' He would've given some indication that she should run, and there was no hint. She needs to trust her creature's judgement, because right now, all her creature tells her is to hide from danger.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Something can't be right.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Elowen darts from the willow, back towards the direction of the stream. Maybe he returned to Cordea and Arion.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"Ronyn!" she calls out.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Gods, where could he have gone? How come he didn't tell her he'd disappear when he was supposed to stand guard?

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎She enters into the clearing. "Ronyn?"

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Her heart drops against her ribcage, her creature screaming beneath her skin at the sight before her eyes. Her body enters into a paralysis, a spell she can't seem to break as she watches the iron chains wrap around the limbs of her friends.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Before her, a squad of terran soldiers and nautica warriors surround Arion and Cordea, leaching their limbs with iron. Even from a distance, Elowen scrunches her nose at the horrendous presence of that metal alloy. As she gazes closer, she observes the way Cordea remains knelt down, almost hunched as she hugs her waist. Blood stains her palms, stains her robe. Arion remains close, surrendering himself to the terrans and nautica without second guessing if it means protecting his mate. Ronyn remains nowhere to be found.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Arion spots Elowen standing at the edge of the thicket, a silent angel of demise. "Bean bag," he warns. Cordea cries out in pain, bleeding, bleeding away. In that moment, she wishes the were knew her name. Her inner creature leaps from beneath her skin, scampering to Cordea's side to comfort her whimpering aura.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"Cordea," Elowen breathes. It's then she notices the iron dagger still wedged into her flesh.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎There's only one man who would wage war at such a desperate time. No plague of blight will put an end to his greed: Alistair Carrin.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎She meets the soulless oil slick irises of a man that tried to purchase her all those weeks ago. They call him a high lord, a god meant to be bowed before in full reverence.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"Is this where you've been hiding, hybrid?" Alistair's voice purrs. "With the savage were?"

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Two webbed hands harshly pull at the base of Elowen's two wings, hauling her back against the chest of a nautica stranger. She wrangles within his arms, but Alistair knows how to make a wyng comply. Iron. As if the iron arrow wound wasn't enough. She'll revert back to the battered and bruised corpse she was when Ronyn purchased her at the auction house.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Where are you, Ronyn? she breathes out into an empty abyss, but her mind isn't connected to Ronyn.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎It's Morrow that has access to her thoughts, who can enter and leave her mind as he pleases. Elowen prays that Morrow's listening to her, that he sees what she can through her vision.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"Get your filthy hands off of me," she hisses, jutting her bony elbows back into her captor's ribs.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎A groan erupts from behind her. "Oi, you never told me she was feisty."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Alistair's lips curve in delight at her fight. "She's quite remarkable, Nerrocen. A fine addition to my collection."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Nerrocen steps into view, the iron chain wrapped within his webbed fingers like a leash. Judging by his physique and armour, Nerrocen holds a high ranking within the nautica military, probably a lieutenant of sorts. His empty white sockets haunt her with voidless emotion as he gives the iron chain a brutal tug. She lurches forward, bile creeping up her throat at the poisoning restraints.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Alistair takes a step closer, his eyes gleaming with a sinister satisfaction. "You're a rare one. A winged fae with fire in her veins, one who's soul managed to scathe my advances." He chuckles, almost finding humour in her tribe's destruction. "I can't wait to see what other surprises you have in store."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Elowen grits her teeth, her mind racing in endless cyclones. She can't let Alistair take her, can't let him use her for whatever twisted purposes he has set for her. She takes another helpless glance at Arion and Cordea, a wounded Cordea, wondering how on earth the terrans caught onto their trail.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Her only hope now is a vanished Ronyn and a rogue Morrow. Her connection to Morrow feels distant, a thread she desperately tries to pull into focus, but it's out of grasp.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"Let us go," she demands, her voice carrying a defiance that surprises even herself. "I was never yours to begin with."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"And who do you belong to?" Alistair challenges, then looks over to the nautica lieutenant. "She would be much happier within my estates back in Brecia, wouldn't she be?"

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"Unless she prefers the cold depths of the sea," Nerrocen retorts. "Those white wings would saturate and drag her down to the bottom of the ocean, where those two lungs of hers would collapse. She would drown," he smirks. "A slow bitter death."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Elowen attempts to step towards Arion and Cordea, only to be tugged back by Nerrocen and his iron leash. Nerrocen tssks his finger.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"Naughty girl," he jabs.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"You have no right to hold me like this, fucking assholes!"

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Alistair chuckles, the sound grating against her nerves. "Rights, my dear, are a luxury for those in power. And right now, that power lies in my hands."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"Then I'll cut those fucking hands if I can," Elowen grits.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Alistair's amusement deepens, and he gestures for Nerrocen to bring Elowen closer. She stumbles forward, but her defiance remains unyielding. The nautica lieutenant grins, his empty sockets fixed on her.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"Where are all these words coming from, hybrid?" Alistair sneers. "Give up your fight. That alpha of yours isn't coming back to save you this time, because if he gave a damn, he wouldn't have left you with these fools."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Elowen spits at Alistair's feet, her voice sharp with contempt. "Morrow will come."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Or he won't. She crosses her fingers that those cursed wings will tremble these woods and obliterate the nautica and terrans surrounding them.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"Bean bag," Arion says her nickname in a desperate warn. The iron around his own limbs tighten as a terran soldier punishes him for speaking out, but fortunately lets him stay by Cordea's side. He holds his mate to his chest, clinging to her as if he were the knot tying their two lives together.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"Is Cordea...?" Elowen breathes out.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"She's alive," Arion holds his mate tighter to his chest, his eyes flickering from desperation to flames of anger and defiance. He's about to burst, but it'd be foolish to shift when the terrans are hungry for wolf pelts. "I can't wait until I can rip the hearts out of all your chests, and if I can't... god forbid you survive Morrow."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Nerrocen laughs mockingly. "Your alpha's loyalty won't save you. Your fate is sealed, as well as the rest of the Tabrien pack."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"Funny you talk about loyalty, considering you've sold yours to a fucking terran."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎A flicker of discomfort crosses Nerrocen's face, a momentary crack in the facade of indifference. But Alistair, the puppet master of this dark symphony, remains unswayed. "Words won't change your predicament. You're at our mercy." With a flick of Alistair's wrists, he points in the opposite direction of Yestrea. "We shall go back to the camp. Don't let the wyng out of your sight, Nerrocen."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎The nautica lieutenant nods his head, then pushes Elowen's spine to get her to move. Her silver irises search behind her for her beta accomplice, but there's no sign of Ronyn. He fled the scene before he even got a chance to fight. What happened to his promise to Morrow? To making sure no harm comes her way? To be her guard on behalf of her mate?

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Ronyn never struck her as a coward. He rams into conflict head first, with claws drawn and ready to slice flesh if fate calls for it. Bound in chains of iron, that same beta that she witnessed within the auction house isn't coming back.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎There's only one other chance of surviving this.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Elowen grasps onto the line that links her to Morrow. She tugs with such vigour she swears she can feel their minds colliding, becoming one. With every relentless heave of their tether, her heart hammers against her ribs at the pulse of his own. She can feel Morrow. His proximity. His presence. His prestige.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Alistair's oil slick irises meet her own as if he could sense her desperation. "He's not coming."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"He is."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎The words don't belong to Elowen, but to the one who infiltrates her mind.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎A pair of shadowed wings cut Alistair off at the pass, a steel blade almost glowing in the afternoon haze. Morrow emerges from the brush, his meadowed hues darkening in deadly corruption. His body remains stiff, on edge as his aura lurches with the desire to shift into his brute wolf form. His clutch against his weapon speaks of his restraint to keep human, to keep himself in control. It's not until his irises illuminate that firefly glow that she knows his soul and wolf have twined into one, for they both share the same desire.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎He takes a step forward, the sound of his voice a dagger to the suddenly silent air. "No one takes what is mine."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎The words become a battlecry as hell unleashes itself. And Elowen? All she can do is observe the bloodbath before her.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎

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it's been awhile since i've given you all an update for sparrow, and i'm sorry for leaving you all on so many cliffhangers. i've been struggling to write this story and doing it justice since there's so many aspects to it that just don't click (for me, as the author). but then again, the content for this chapter wasn't exactly one i was super eager to write. i apologize if it just feels so forced. i'm hoping we're onto some more fun adventures instead! i love elowen and morrow and the rest of the gang, so maybe we just need even MORE of them.

other updates regarding sparrow include a new posting schedule. yep. it's just random now lol. i will try to give you all a heads up when i will be posting the next chapter, but let's just go with complete spontenaeity for now.

hope you all have a great week!

ivy <3