darling, you're wild-eyed, empty, and tongue-tied
maybe you need me or maybe you don't

Sochi did not expect to be the one stolen away, and she finds no joy in the sentence.

She is still unsure about her youngest boy and where he has been; she still does not know the full extent of the war’s damage in Loess or their next move. She has barely recovered from her fight with the mysterious panther who smelled of Tephra but did not seem overly attached to it. The scars still sit pink and fresh on her coat, puckered flesh and the way it looks like it could easily tear at the seams.

But she does not fear the autumn forest.

And she does not fear its hellhound leader.

The man who would call himself king.

So she slips from Loess, ignoring the knots in her stomach when she thinks of her lost son, and makes her way to the neighboring territory. She slips into her feline form, feeling the earth as it moves between her paws and shakes the dust from her coat. She is not subtle when she is liking this, but she feels the most like herself, her silver eyes bleeding into orange, her vibrant coat nearly matching the leaves of the trees.

When she gets to the border, she curls her lip in disgust and then sits on the edge of it.

She did not directly disobey, but she certainly had no intention of waltzing her way into the center of the kingdom for him to find her. Instead, she lifts a paw and begins to clean herself idly, her thick tail twitching behind her and her ear gently twitching as she listens to the sounds fo those around her.

If she is anything but languid in this moment, anything but alert, it does not show.

If she feels anything but mild annoyance at her circumstances, she says nothing.

playing the slow rooms, howling at half moons
if you are a Queen then, honey, I am a wolf

darling, you're wild-eyed, empty, and tongue-tied
maybe you need me or maybe you don't

Sochi is well acquainted with her own darkness. She has grappled her demons, seen them face-to-face while chewing the heart out of a mare she thought a devil. She has known the depth of her own tolerance for the unsavory, learned that she was to live by her own rules and her own alone. So she does not frighten when the hellhound emerges from the shadows. She doesn’t shiver or bend or do anything but lift her feline lips to reveal her incisors, the pink of her tongue visible, her eyes narrowed.

“I’d like to see you try,” she growls lightly, her voice husky and rough, a sound distinctly feminine even despite the way it rumbles on the end. She knows the feeling that rides electric on the air now; she knows the way that this man must feel while promoting chaos. She knows he would be tasting the air, just waiting for a lick of her fear, and she refuses to give it to him, refuses to be easy prey.

Instead, she lifts herself to her feet, massive paws sinking into the earth.

“I’d recommend keeping a safe distance.” She feels her adrenaline in her veins, that instinctual feeling of knowing that this meeting was not something rote. He had other plans, other intentions, and the longer that she watched the smirk growing on his wolfish mouth, the more than she didn’t trust it.

“I don’t have quite the stomach for dog meat,” her tail flicks behind her as her languid smile grows wide, a bold, reckless move for a woman feeling like the ground was moving beneath her. “But I’d be willing to force it down if it meant ripping it from you limb by limb. Don’t tempt me, mutt.”

Her stomach tightens, both in anticipation and caution, and she ignores it.

If she was to live within this godforsaken forest, he’d at least know who he was dealing with.

playing the slow rooms, howling at half moons
if you are a Queen then, honey, I am a wolf

darling, you're wild-eyed, empty, and tongue-tied
maybe you need me or maybe you don't

It is difficult to focus only on this situation when her mind is splintered in so many pieces.

There are parts of her that have never left Loess, that have never stopped wondering and worrying about where her son has gone. There are parts of her that are curled next to Castile, that are breathing in the spice of him, in the comfort that only his brimstone and flames can bring. She has to drag herself back into the here and now, has to reminder herself that she needs to be present—needs to be sharp.

He licks his lips and she pulls hers back, the growl deepening in her chest.

“I will eat your heart, mutt,” she finally spits out as he intrudes into her space and she feels every hair stand on edge, the rest of it all beginning to fade away as she zeroes in on this moment. He is large and there is something otherworldly about him—something more like Castile and less like her.

Still, she does not plan on going down without a fight.

She curls around herself to keep him in her line of vision as much as she can, her tail flicking behind her, ears barely twitching as she studies all of him. “I will watch Castile burn down your forest and I will be there to rip your throat out.” He takes a step back and her usually languid face is suddenly alive with fury, the lines of it harsh, her feline eyes electric. “Don’t you dare touch me.”

Sochi can still feel the wounds that threaten to open up across her chest and down her back.

She can feel the fear for her son beating below the surface.

She grows reckless and, in that second, she loses. She lunges for him, jaws snapping, and the soft ground gives out under her paws. She rolls and loses sight of him in the process, landing as her equine self.

She heaves herself up, shaking the dirt from her eyes, trying to find where he had gone.

playing the slow rooms, howling at half moons
if you are a Queen then, honey, I am a wolf