She sighed. Then, instead of answering, she merely stood and shifted. In a moment, a large, brindle, one-eyed wolf was gazing back at them where she'd been standing. Her fur was a mix of deep black and mottled browns, interspersed with the brilliant orange that was her hair, glinting in the firelight. The small nock in her right ear was only that much more distinct and the scar across her face flickered in the firelight. Her build was that peculiar mix of lithe but strong that was the mark of all wolves, though it tended towards the heavier-built end of things, much like a Timber Wolf, though her muzzle was and face was markedly longer than was average, indicating a mixed heritage of wolven lines. She was as much a mutt as any werewolf could be.
"All that is gold does not glitter, Not all those who wander are lost; The old that is strong does not wither, Deep roots are not reached by the frost."
In the blink of an eye the wolf became human once more. She sat back down, gazing towards the fire instead of the other people. She didn't elaborate, nor speak at all, merely sat in silence as she waited for either more questions or the opportunity to disengage.
Ari smiled a little and nodded. "Ya were right."
"All that is gold does not glitter, Not all those who wander are lost; The old that is strong does not wither, Deep roots are not reached by the frost."
Amy nodded back, drawing closer to Ari and hugging his arm.
"You don't have to talk much about your uh... wolf side, if you don't want to," Amy said softly."I get it. Some of us are like that. All they know of being a wolf is pain, so they prefer to stay as a human, because that's what feels safe. I used to be like that for a while too, when I got separated from my family. It's nice though, to be with people who are okay with me being me. Like James and... and you. And Ari. I mean, I dunno what it's like for you when you don't have that uh, little talisman necklace thing. But as long as you're with us, you belong. As long as you want to, anyway."
Tasha wished she knew how to answer. Even better, she wanted to know what she actually felt through all this confusion and pain and conflict. But she didn't. She didn't understand any of it: not her comrades, not her wolf, not what was right or what was wrong, not even herself. That, perhaps, was the most painful part of it all.
She opened and closed her mouth a few times as she struggled to figure out which part was most prevalent or she was willing to share. All that came out was a mumbled "thanks" before she stood, saying something about gathering firewood and slipping into the shadows of the landscape past the fire's light.
"All that is gold does not glitter, Not all those who wander are lost; The old that is strong does not wither, Deep roots are not reached by the frost."
She stopped, turning back to look at him. "I won't go far," she said, then proceeded to continue, scanning for dead trees or sizable hunks of wood they could use.
"All that is gold does not glitter, Not all those who wander are lost; The old that is strong does not wither, Deep roots are not reached by the frost."
James continued to follow after her. "It's not just getting lost or running into danger that I'm worried about," he said softly. "I know... I know you're processing a lot. That's fine. But I know what it's like when you keep it all inside. It just builds in pressure until you burst. I don't know if you're the kind who needs space to think, but if you need to talk it out, even if it comes out wrong - well hell, I don't know, but you've got an ear to listen, alright?"
She paused and gazed towards the deep forest. At first, she neither denied nor engaged with him, merely contemplating his words and her own confused heart.
Tasha let out a breath. "Have you ever killed a man in cold blood, James? Not because you had to...not because they were posing a threat in that moment...just because you...wanted to?"
"All that is gold does not glitter, Not all those who wander are lost; The old that is strong does not wither, Deep roots are not reached by the frost."
James slowed in his steps, stopping a few short feet behind her. The cool of the forest closed in around him, and the question cut like a knife. He watched the back of her head closely.
"I have," she said, voice unnaturally even. "More times than I can count. And I'd like to think it was out of some twisted sense of morality but the fact is the matter is that some of us...some of us aren't so lucky as Amy. Some of us are monsters not because we want to be or made some choice to be but because it's what we were born as. People can preach all they like about freewill. Ultimately, the fact of the matter is, we're all slaves to ourselves, and for those of us who are bound by that...predatory instinct...well, either it'll trigger itself or we've got to give it somewhere to go."
"All that is gold does not glitter, Not all those who wander are lost; The old that is strong does not wither, Deep roots are not reached by the frost."
"If I wanted to be convinced otherwise, believe me, I would be," she said simply, then continued walking.
"All that is gold does not glitter, Not all those who wander are lost; The old that is strong does not wither, Deep roots are not reached by the frost."
James continued to follow behind her. He didn't know where she was going, and how long or how far she planned on walking into the forest before returning - if she did want to return. She hadn't exactly been very open or upfront about how keen she was on staying with them, not that it would've been in character for her to do so.
He looked up at the moonlit sky.
Tasha believed she was born a monster and destined to be one. She was convinced she had an incurable, predatorial bloodlust that had to be quenched one way or another, and that that made her a wretch of a person. There was nothing he could say to that that wouldn't have been something she'd heard before. If she was going to change, something would have to click deeper than inane logical arguments could go. What tormented her was an issue of the heart, and that was something he was hopeless to medicate. Words were just words. She needed something he couldn't give, and he didn't even know what that was.
It... he knew it wasn't his job to 'fix' her. But he didn't know what else to do.
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