VEUX

Fifty Four

June 17?

Exhaustion, topped with starvation and dehydration, stole time from Saoirse's mind in chunks she couldn't remember. Seconds felt like hours and hours like years. Pain, not only from physical bruises, but also the inner twisting of her stomach, kept her from truly succumbing to sleep. That, and the twine she didn't remember being tied into.

Early in the season of Summer, the Goddess's twin shined relatively high in the afternoon sky. Warm rays of golden threads danced across Saoirse's skin, peaking between the tree leaves above. Leant over her knees, Saoirse achingly straightened her posture with a pull on her arms behind her. The twisted twine around her wrists also wrapped around the base of the Elm against her back, tightening as she pulled.

The man-eaters saw the size of her wolf, their leader confirming the strength of the venom in her blood. And still, silly thin twine pretended to hold her captive. Saoirse could have easily broken free, just as she had when handcuffed on Swansea Territory, but it wasn't the right time.

Hearing weak, Saoirse depended on her wavering vision as she glanced up. An immediate pounding in her skull followed. She needed to find food, and she needed to do so quickly. She was as useless as her first day as a pup like this. To her surprise, no sister-wolf towered over her like a guard. She was abandoned, by the tree. Isolated like a prisoner.

Trails of beaten down blades of grass traced the common paths of the Mate-Killers between trees, disappearing behind shrubs and bushes Saoirse could not see over. Though few visible, there were more heads than Saoirse could count, surely. Dispersed between the trees, prowling, waiting. Backs of tall women draped in twine-strung-teeth were across from Saoirse in the small opening. They busied themselves along forms of fallen logs, table-like.

Silent, Saoirse observed them as she waited for her next torture session. At least they hadn't beat her to a pulp in her sleep, despite her bodily protests. Muscles ached from sitting atop her knees for so long, spine aching at the curve she had slumped forward over. She had gained little energy during her cat-naps, waking from dry mouth, hunger pains, and bruises forming on her shins.

No strength meant no healing.

No power.

These she-wolves shared little to no similarities, physically. Each from a different bloodline, a different time and place. Lengths of native hair; straight black braids; curly brown kinks; heavenly blonde —

Heavenly blonde

Hazel eyes of the child stared back just as wide as Saoirse's, a sheet of birch trembling in her almond-toned hands. Subtly, Saoirse jerked her chin in a warning, matted tendrils falling against her cool cheeks.

The girl turned.

"Never seen 'em so young, have ya?" A loud voice startled Saoirse such that she flinched, now shadowed by one of the sister-wolves.

"I'm hallucinating," Saoirse muttered airily under her breath, barely heard to her own ears. The hunger and sleep depravation was making her delusional.

"Ya not hallucinattin'," A proud smile was plastered over the she-wolfs face, plated amor clanking gently as she knelt to Saoirse's height. "Onceinawhile tha Goddess forgives."

The memory of her golden cross hung from Mutesi's cluttered neck was enough to deter Saoirse's rageful appetite. Her heart drummed on loudly, adrenaline pumping through her skin.

Gabby is alive. Gabby has eyes. Gabby is right fucking here.

Shit.

As the reality sunk in, Saoirse's turning head felt like ages of spinning as she assessed the Mate-Killer crouched uncomfortably close to her. It was not Axa or Mutesi, the only two that had really been ingrained into Saoirse's mind the last time she was awake. Though the Earth's dirt covered her tanned skin head to toe, and clumps of red clay caked her dark brown dreads into a ball cascading from the side of her head, it was her energy radiating from orbs of sea green eyes that captured Saoirse. Arches of brown brows rounded her deeply hooded eyes, a slim straight nose and plush mauve mouth. So close, Saoirse could see the metallic blood crusting between chapped lips, canines regularly sharpened as she spoke. Horrendous images of Oak's sister-wolves strung from spears, those exact spears, pried into her mind.