“Daemroooooon, why’d you bring Red?” Cerva’s voice rings out loud as the triplets race through the winding trails strewn within the Valley’s forests. Her brother’s maned wolf trails behind them like a shadow and the princess can almost imagine it not being there if she couldn’t hear its paws hitting the hard-packed soil. Daemron’s short reply shuts Cerva right up. “She’s always with me.” They’ve argued about the wolf before and it’s no use starting up another round of bickering.
Nihlus races alongside Cerva, always a strong presence. The scent of the fall night air fills her lungs, intensifying the heat of simple life that races through her blood. They didn’t play as often anymore, as their legs grew longer and their minds grew sharper, but occasionally one of them would start up another round of racing and then they would be off, galloping the trails like they used to when their limbs were gangly and their hearts light.
When Cerva didn’t have to pretend quite so hard to be like them.
The sound of Nihlus screaming as Daemron’s wolf launched onto his haunches scares Cerva and she gasps awake.
The echo of her brother’s cry still rages in her ears as she blinks awake. The chill of fall night air is replaced by the bitter prickle of winter. Even with her coat fluffed against the cold and her poison ivy working to insulate her numb legs and push away the heavy drifts of snow, Cerva cannot escape the frozen, prickling feeling of numbness throughout her body. Her skin itches with the memory of the dream-turned-nightmare. So she stirs into movement, working to revive the warmth to her muscles and drive away the shadows of sleep.
It is easy to bring heat to her body, but not so much the dream. They’ve been happening more frequently, and even when she isn’t sleeping. There was a hazy flash of Daemron’s bulk in the corner of her eye yesterday. The scent of rain in the distance drowned her in a daydream of Nihlus and Cerva dancing among a storm. Every spring, she is only further reminded of her mother. Her family (her wolfish, greedy, Valley family) has rooted into the crevasses of her mind even when she had fled to the meadow to hide from them.
Perhaps, she wonders, she can never escape them.
When her body is properly warmed as much as it can, Cerva nestles herself in the shelter of a pine tree and stares blearily across the meadow. She wills herself not to see Nihlus in the dark bay of that mare, or Noori in the rough bark of the nearby tree, or Daemron in the deep chuckle of a stallion nearby. It still happens, despite her efforts to stop it. And so she merely closes her eyes and sighs heavily.
Cerva