Chapter Eight

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She stood frozen on her feet as she watched her mate chatter with Basile, not quite matching his cheerfulness. Dread pooled in her gut, like a sharp knife to her gut. If he found her here then she would have to go even farther, into the Northwest Territories, knowing that the male wouldn't dare go as far as she was into the sparsely populated territory. She was already at unease about the rough conditions that it held, short, hot and dry summers and long, cold and severe winters. Knowing her wolf would have to adapt to the new climate, her fairly thick coat wasn't enough to protect her her from the bitter cold of Canada's foreboding weather.

  
Turning on her heel, holding the blanket tightly to her body, she ran into a random room, hoping that it held femme cloths, for she had none. Luck was on her side that day, as Olympe flung open closet doors she was hit with the scent of a she-wolf. Grabbing the knapsack that rested in a chair and dumping the contents out, she stuffed as much warm clothes as she could into the bag, along with a pair of boots that were a size too large. Slinging the pack on to the ground with a grunt of inconvenience, she dropped the blanket and shifted into her wolf, grabbing the bag in her mouth she trended lightly through the house.

    
The gloomy sunset hardly shone on her dark fur, making her ears twitch with gratification. Not sparring a glance behind her, the female headed north, deeper into the cold dusky evening. Invisible strings tugged at her heart, urging her to go back, in a daze she stopped, actually considering the absurd idea.

    
It's the mate bond, barely formed yet still there.

     
Her wolf answered her unasked question. With a humph of disdain, she continued her odyssey into the far north, planning her next moves. Where would she go once she got there, to a town or into the wild? How'd she survive? Her thoughts blurred together, a light pain laced through her head from all the heavy thinking.


Don't doubt yourself, I always survive, and I'll be damned if I die because of this mate. She thought to herself, mentally sneering at the thought of her mate. He was everything she didn't want, seemingly compassionate and loving whereas she was cruel and closed off. He was patient, she was quick to jump at the slightest thing.

Stop jumping to conclusions, human, you don't know him.

And you do?

He might be good for us — no, he'd be good for you, you need him. He'll fix you.

I'm not broken, I'm fine the way I am.

With that last sentence, Olympe closed off the mind link with her wolf, blocking her out. Feeling her curl up into some nook in her mind, she continued on, triumphant in their small argument.

§

The female didn't know how long she had traveled but for the past few days all she had seen was trees, trees, and more trees. She was beginning to get frustrated, yet content at the same time, knowing her mate would never find her in the vast landscape she had thrown herself into. The only down fall to this trek was that it had began to snow the other day, not a light snow either. A large wave of the white flakes blew in, coating the ground in several feet of snow. She didn't like the way the snow clumped up between the pads of her paws, it was cold and uncomfortable, and everyday before she took a nap she was forced to remove the burr-like snow clusters.

The thick canopies of the trees did nothing to render the forest floor from the constant flow of snow, it seemed never ending, a manifold of white blurs. Slowly her eyes had to adjust to the harshness of the glare of the sun against the harsh paleness on the ground that slipped through the leaves and onto the ground. It was irritating her, having to take high steps, meaning slow steps, and in shorter words, less distance put between her and her mate.

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