A haunting sound slices through the forest, riding the autumn wind. For thousands of years, their ancestor's howls had echoed across this land, but none would have moved him like this one.
He doesn't feel much, not since the dragon turned his heart to ice, but he feels that.
The wolf's legs are in motion before he has time to consider if he should or shouldn't. It wasn't a question. She was his Alpha, and she called.
She called to him.
In a world like this, it was the nature of souls to drift apart. Time was forever pulling against them, pulling them apart, and time usually won. But there was another side to the nature of tides and time - what had been broken was often pushed back together again. He hadn't doubted it, even if he had never searched for her with intention. He had always known that she would call for him again when she was ready.
The unique signature of Ferran's mind draws him like a torch, and before he can see her he seeks to fall into its familiar crevices. He felt more at home in her thoughts than his own in the younger years, when he was little more than her slinking shadow.
Or so he had been told.
Their father had always said that like it was an insult, but he hadn't minded being her shadow.
The years that have past can be seen on his face, in his size, and most noticeably the old wound across his chest. Bare skin, the color of charcoal, stands out - an ugly contrast to the rest of his thick pelt. It is the only hint that there is no warm, beating heart in his breast. Any heat that he generates comes from the small twisting flames above his shoulder blades.
Red eyes search her, just as his mind searches her, and he mirrors her. Sinking to his haunches he absorbs her ghostly wolf-form with a hungry stare.
He doesn't feel much, he never would, but he knows that this is right.
He doesn't feel much, not since the dragon turned his heart to ice, but he feels that.
The wolf's legs are in motion before he has time to consider if he should or shouldn't. It wasn't a question. She was his Alpha, and she called.
She called to him.
In a world like this, it was the nature of souls to drift apart. Time was forever pulling against them, pulling them apart, and time usually won. But there was another side to the nature of tides and time - what had been broken was often pushed back together again. He hadn't doubted it, even if he had never searched for her with intention. He had always known that she would call for him again when she was ready.
The unique signature of Ferran's mind draws him like a torch, and before he can see her he seeks to fall into its familiar crevices. He felt more at home in her thoughts than his own in the younger years, when he was little more than her slinking shadow.
Or so he had been told.
Their father had always said that like it was an insult, but he hadn't minded being her shadow.
The years that have past can be seen on his face, in his size, and most noticeably the old wound across his chest. Bare skin, the color of charcoal, stands out - an ugly contrast to the rest of his thick pelt. It is the only hint that there is no warm, beating heart in his breast. Any heat that he generates comes from the small twisting flames above his shoulder blades.
Red eyes search her, just as his mind searches her, and he mirrors her. Sinking to his haunches he absorbs her ghostly wolf-form with a hungry stare.
He doesn't feel much, he never would, but he knows that this is right.
![[Image: Firen-insane.gif]](https://i.postimg.cc/fL1FKyZk/Firen-insane.gif)