Without an enemy to vanquish, the wolf took refuge in a patch of marsh reeds and roots, curling up around the deep gash in her side. Ivory rib, just a sliver, peeped out of the wound. Her breaths were shallow.
— her lying broken on the floor of a ruinous kitchen, blood oozing from one empty eye socket —
His heart gave out. Instinctively, Fenn dashed over to the downed she-beast, tripping over snaking roots and mud and awkward shrubbery with no regard for his scraped feet. He barely noticed the swath of snow trailing in his wake.
— but what had he ever done to warrant this kind —
The air around him was icy and unwelcoming. Thick with blowing snow, suffocating. A pallor of winter. He wrapped his arms around Daugi’s neck, biting back tears as she weakly nuzzled him, she uttering an urgent whine. There were hands clasped around his chest, trying to get his attention. They wouldn’t take him from his wolf. Thoughtlessly, he shoved the touch back, fingers twitching with frost.
— should have acted sooner, he should have actually done something to help her, she was right, weak and cowardly to be frozen by indecision —
Words cut through the cry of the winds. Physical, audible, spoken words.
“Fenn, stop! I’m helping- my magic! I can heal her!â€
At the squeaky cant of Loreley’s voice, the fae’s gaze shot up, heart racing. The girl shivered in her summer dress, looking very out-of-place in the swirl of snow that surrounded them. It faintly registered to him that she must have fought her way through his howling almost-blizzard to get to them. Fenn gave her a blank stare. His ears twitched. All that talking earlier, and she neglected to mention something this useful?
Actually, come to think of it, she probably had mentioned it. But he had been napping.
His frightened survival instincts murmured to him. Amari had been able to heal people too. You know, Lore’s magic-brightness feels a lot like her magic-brightness; before the corruption, that is.
But she isn’t Amari. Lore is nice, his inner thief insisted.
But they must be of the same kind then. What was it Amari called herself? Ar’Tuel?
It doesn’t matter.
As he forced himself to take deep breaths, face still buried in his wolf’s matted fur, the snowy gales building up around him began to peter out. Before his eyes, white speckles melted into the brown mud. A wash of muggy air replaced his stormings. Daugi licked his cheek gratefully. Anxious and antsy, and apologetic in the way he hung his head, Fenn sat on his still-frosty hands and allowed Loreley to step closer.
A crumpled sketch smile of relief lit up her face. “Good, you got it.â€
Still shivering in the wake of his outburst, Loreley kneeled in the mud beside them. Magic-warmth overflowed from her. Fenn could feel it even from a few feet away. Slowly, almost painful so, she lowered her hand over the gaping wound. A pulse of light emanated from her hands. Under her touch, ligaments pulled together and raw flesh closed in on itself… but only for a small portion of the wound. And it was a rather large wound. The direwolf whined each time the girl moved to a new spot. Every burst of bright, soothing light made Loreley’s breath catch, as if she too could feel the pain of the great beast.
“I can only do a little bit at a time,†the girl admitted with a tired shudder. “And I can’t… I can’t do much. But I gotta try…â€
That was reassuring, but only so much. Fenn stroked the top of Daugi’s head, listening to her raspy breathing and his own too-quick heart. He wasn't sure what he would do if she didn’t make it. A part of him worried that Lore wasn’t up to the task — was going to overextend and injure herself trying to fix this.
“But Fenn-“ the girl continued breathlessly while she focused on the direwolf, her eyes as wild as her flyaway hair, “I know what that monster was.â€