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.
The ache of the faint mate bond was still there, maybe not as strong as before but there. What Olympe didn't know was that no matter how much distance put between the pair, fate would always find a way to bring them back together, it might take years but eventually he'll would her.
The slight tugs, accompanied with little pains, in her stomach kept her always alert to her ever present hunger, yet there was nothing in sight to eat. Olympe soon became panicked at thought of dying of starvation, she'd rather drown that be starved, a slow painful death, she had seen it many times before, observing the begging prisoners below Gael's Facility, their gaunt faces displaying all their reactions. Mental fatigue, depression, anxiety, the helplessness in their eyes. It haunted her now.
Shaking herself of the thoughts and her coat of snow, the female bounded off through the snow looking for shelter or her next meal. Traveling for such a long time had its drawbacks, and they showed greatly in the young, hungered wolf. Every now and then her eyes would flash black, being in her wolf form summoned her wolf, making her want to take control of her body. She now had a rabid look in her eyes, that was usually concealed unless killing, but the hunger egged on her mind, she squirmed every so often, thinking she had heard a snap of a twig or the flutter of wings.
Olympewould trip every so often, the coldness would seep through her thick coat, burrowing its self in her slowly fading warmth.
Be strong, Olympe, we aren't far now.
Growling at her wolf and not knowing what she meant by that, Olympe carried on. Her mind wandered as her feet went forward. What is Basile doing now? Is he looking for her, or playing with the pitbulls? What has become of Bracken, had he started lashing out at the new members. Who sat on her throne? The last one made her blood run cold, not the tear jerking wind forces. An audible growl escaped her gray muzzle, she drew in a long, heavy breath, who the fuck controlled the prison? Worry shot through her, for the last few years of her life, Everest was her life, her home, and now some one was probably dragging it down to ruins. True it was a prison, but it was a safe haven that Olympe tried to make as less painful as possible. Everest was an escape from death, yet it only took months to break some. It was true what the wolves say when they past the dull skyscraper of a building, only the strongest survive.
She could remember her arrival for the first time, clear as day, and the trial before it. From the way the judge, Elder Rylon, stared mercilessly into her eyes, as if knowing what laid beyond her scarred skin, a monster with a thirst that would never be satisfied until she deemed fit, to the way a femme guard looked at her with pity until Olympe jumped at her, fear and uncertainty took over her brown eyes. The feeling that were going through her were mainly negative and oozed out of her strongly, the spicy smell of anger lingered all through out the trial.
§
Walking in the courtroom she was greeted by cameras and reporters, all streaming live on to national wolf television, her face was a blank mask, but the annoyance was clear in her fifteen year old eyes, unable, not wanting to hide it. If you looked close enough you'd see that her eyes were barely crinkled up at the sides, a form of smugness shown. The reporters rained questions down upon her, but to their dismay, she did not care to answer what they wanted to know.
"Why did you do it, miss?" Because it was righteous.
"Are you guilty?" No shit, she wanted to say, why else would she be here? But she, and along with everyone else in room, knew that the trial was bullshit.
"Do you feel remorse?" Never.
"Tell us about yourself!" What was going through that fucktard's mind? This wasn't Doctor Phil. Christ on a stick.
"Who are you?" That one made her think, who was she? She didn't know anymore. It wasn't like it matter anyways.
The Enforcers behind her simply plowed through the horde of reporters and camera crews. Their faces as equally blank as Olympe. They weaved a winding path through the crowd and chairs and hissing bystanders, leading her up to Elder Rylon. His face was impassive and his lips were curled in repulse. One Enforcer yanked on her short steel leash attached to her cuffs and chained her down to the floor in front of the elder who seemed to think of himself as some righteous god.
Though Olympe was young, she always drew out the same reaction out of everyone, fear. It flashed so quickly through his eyes that she wasn't even sure it was there, a look of disgust settled on his face instead, but it was too late for that. She saw it, along with her wolf, it was there. It had always amazed her how a young girl could draw out fear to those that surrounded her. She didn't try to do it, it just happened, she supposed it was from all those years of feigning some emotion.
"Olympe Tryker, born in the year 1997 to Gamma Tryker and Kappa Morist, ran away and became a Rogue at the age of nine." Rylon paused, the deceit clear in his eyes. "A shame really, such poteintal you had shown," he tsked, rage boiled in her stomach, if he was going to judge her at least do it right. "You killed over six dozen wolves, government assigned wolves. Imagine that, yet another Rogue killing innocent wolves but the question is how?" Olympe felt her eyes widen in shock, they knew.
They knew what Gael was doing, defeat settled inside her gut, but kept her mouth shut. What was the good in giving into Rylon, instead she glared defiantly at him.
"Nothing to say now, well, I think Everest is deemed fit enough for monsters such as yourself." The old bastard leaned back into his chair smugly, the crowded roared with excitement, one day that man would pay for his crimes.
§
Lymmie, take back control, darling.
Her surroundings soon faded back, her wolf had taken control and lead her to safety. Looking around her, she found that she was deep inside a dark cave, her nocturnal vision allowed her to see the etchings on the rough walls. Crude, sharp lines made the outlines of beautiful, bleak eyes and the sun and stars to hunters taking down a wolf. It was wonderful, the ancientness of it. Walking around in circles, observing it, she dropped her snow covered knapsack on to the cold flooring. It was her new home.