evanescence

Amoret felt her blood shrivel into powder.

The feeling of defying fate numbed her body as she was grimly reminded of her recent actions—their causes and byproducts. She spoke with fright, "Mama was right."

Faolán extended his hand to Amoret, but withdrew his offer as quickly as he gave it. The prompt rejection was based merely out of fear of being discovered for what he truly is by the naive Amoret. He started to feel the skin of his fingers shred as his nails begun elongating into talons—and, his gums shared this similar feeling of bittersweet tension. The teeth that once fit his mouth now strained his jaw as each tooth thickened and then honed to a point. He pressed his lips together to hide the sudden growth, but his sharp teeth scored the lining of his mouth as a cruel result of his deception.

The wind carried the snarls of those unfamiliar to Faolán, and he clenched his fingers into the palms of his hands out of dread for the unknown. He worried that he would not be able to protect himself nor Amoret, and he worried greatly for her reaction to his deceptive truth. Despite this, the instincts of a lycan seethed within him, and he was finding it hard to keep them at bay.

However, he was late to his shift by three months.

Faolán as a novice beast would be reckless, impulsive, and recalcitrant. He would be incredibly weak against even the most untrained lycans. The shift would devour his essence until several, dreadful hours are successfully passed—until both his energy and consciousness are restored. He had mastered the basics of utilizing claws and fangs, but there were limitations to the damage that they could do. Against an experienced, shifted opponent, it would be an unfair match.

He contemplated his next move, and with his fingers curled, he used his knuckles to grip the loose fabric of Amoret's shirt. She felt the faint pull, gentle like kisses from sheep, but she was smart to heed Faolán's warning. She moved to hide behind him, tucked to his back. While Amoret nervously picked at the calluses of her hands, Faolan was tracking the reverberations of the ground with pricked ears. His attention roamed the boundaries of the land. The two could either turn around and renounce the bridge to Sankori, or they could remain en route and endeavour to bypass the danger. Each option featured tragic risks towards Amoret's fate.

Faolan searched for an opening. Through desperate means, he gauged the high possibility that the hostile growls were emanating from the pair's right. There was a chance that he was correct, but there was also a chance that he was wrong. He suddenly seized the opportunity by snatching Amoret's hand—transferring the animalistic urge to run within her. He turned his neck to look at her, dipping his head down as he begged her to recognize his intentions. Thankfully, she was far too preoccupied with the pulsating sting of her own fingers, which were bitten down to the quick, to recognize the state of his nails. Besides, she wouldn't dare take her stare off of his. They nodded to each other in understanding.

And then, they took off to the left.

Faolán and Amoret sprinted, hand and hand, towards the direction that they had committed themselves to. It was thanks to the short amount of time that they were given to decide on their next point of action that they reacted with such ferocity. Faolán led the way with the zealous aptitude of a child, skillfully dodging scattered branches and skipping over protruding rocks. Amoret, however, was grappling with her balance and wincing at her two left feet.

She relied on the pull of her partner. And, although her jagged wrist seemed to crack from Faolán's demands, she was much too afraid to let go. The contortion of the land seemed to take advantage of this as it tilted her body back and forth, side to side, and so on. Her ankles painfully tipped within the confinement of Faolán's borrowed boots, the thin skin scraping and sanding against the rough material. The inherent limp of her legs eventually turned her scuttle into a crawl—forcibly twisting her knees bent, triggering a throb from within her frail bones, and igniting reverberations at the bases of her feet. It was apparent that though she was strong with determination and perseverance, her body was rapidly weakening. The long hours of talking and walking had drained her of all physical strength. And, her body was nearly ready to give up completely.

The tip of her nose smacked into Faolán's shoulder, bending the notch back and watering her eyes. Amoret felt him freeze where he stood, solid and still as a deer. Under the impression that he paused out of a lack of composure, she thought that she should call out to him, but her throat stayed closed against her will. A low, guttural growl seethed through the forest's floor, and Amoret realized that Faolán stopped due to horror for what was to come from the calculating rogue ahead.

Amoret trembled as she slowly jutted her chin upwards, aiming to catch even a short glimpse of Faolán's line of sight. She was met with an intimidating male wolf, startling them with both his impressive size and daunting attitude. A true beast. The four-legged lycan snapped out another snarl before advancing closer, purposely terrorizing them until the time to pounce was just right.

Faolán instinctively warped his body to guard Amoret, leaving only her back open for a cowardly attack. The tips of his ears pinched themselves as he listened closely for signs of others. The imitations echoing throughout the vast greenery proved that there were more. The strange rogue was not alone, far from it, and he understood this power quite well. The rogue inched closer, again and again, to procure even more physical control over Faolán. It was as though he was growing impatient while he waited for his covenant companions. He craved to gain the win, even if it was a victory against a helpless child.

Amoret clung to Faolán's back with her eyes glued shut and her breath stalling. A mixture of purples, mauve and plum alike, tinged the colours of her face. She would have stayed there, quivering like a mouse, but Faolán did not wish for them to share a demise. He loathed the very thought. Still, she made no sound, until Faolán's form heaved her aside with a shove of his shoulder. She gasped loudly with what remained hidden, from what lingered deep within her lungs. The force was barely enough to propel her from under his shadow, but it did knock her off of her feet and away from the threat of his back. If he was forced to fall, then Amoret would be trapped underneath the weight of his body. He knew that he had to avoid that outcome with all of his might.

The sound of a sharp snap alerted those near, and as if on beat, the powerful jaw of the wolf unhinged itself to lunge at the defenceless pair. The breaking of a twig acted as a switch for the rogue. And, the giant pads of his paws leaped through the air with a satisfying whoosh.

Faolán threw his arms up, shivering as a gust of wind clashed against the little hairs of his arms. A chill disturbed his spine, staining the vertebrae with a fearful remembrance. He bit down on his bottom lip, hissing as a trail of blood formed. Through it, he prayed that Amoret could escape while he awaited the final consequence of his own negligence. He felt mortified that he was wrong in his findings, and that he had taken her down with him.

It appeared that Faolán did not recognize Amoret's reality, because she was not yet brave enough to flee. Amoret, after being thrown onto the ground, stared at Faolán in horror. She watched the scene with a gaping mouth, luring the dismay of evanescence to swarm the entirety of her being. Through a silent cry, she mourned the sudden loss of her newfound freedom and independence. She had tasted how savoury it was to finally be separated from the restraints of her parents, from their enervating expectations and standards alike. Despite this, in what she deemed to be her final moments on Earthara, she pleaded for her mother to take her back through a quiet whimper of spit—promising to behave like a good, useful daughter.

The two were oblivious to their arriving saviours, but a resounding crack was anxious to introduce them.

It was then that an enormous, disfigured hand clamped down onto the scruff of Faolán's shirt and proceeded to hoist the confused boy into the air. The voice belonging to the hand spoke with a bestial, hoarse tone, "Well, would you look at that. I've caught myself a wild Faolán."

Another voice purred from behind Amoret's ear, "Yes, Maël, and he has come bearing a sacred gift."

Faolán watched with wide eyes as the limp wolf was lowered and a molting, masculine face appeared behind the corpse. He formed words underneath a snout, "Are you going to introduce us, Faolán?"

"Is that really you, Njálli? Maël?" Faolán felt his heart cry from solace. A glow within his chest spread throughout his limbs as his body regained rightful reign. His feeble hands clasped the man's arm. "Or, am I dead?"

The man to Faolán's side laughed using the pit of his gut. Maël eased Faolán back on solid ground, noting how his feet were already bare of shoes, and ruffled the boy's dark, wavy hair. He grasped Faolán's shoulders. "You have grown some tall since I last saw you! Look, Syera! Njálli, look! The little runt now reaches the low of my chest."

The limp wolf fell to the ground as the second man to speak ignored the loss of a rogue's life. Njálli moved to run his hand now built of death through the volume of Faolán's hair. "He has become rather big, hasn't he? Even his hair has grown long! Faolán, you will soon reach your brother's height, I am sure of it."

Amoret felt a slim hand grasp the tresses of her hair. "Look at who he has brought with him this time. Faolán has found a pretty human on his travels." Syera inhaled Amoret's compelling savor, breathing in her scent, even though it was tainted with wolfsbane. The woman asked Amoret with a sorrowful tune, "Why do you wear such a herb? Do you not wish to bear the heart of a wolf?"

"Amoret doesn't know," Faolán answered for her. He slapped his knees free of dust, quietly begging them to overcome their fears and to stop shaking. "I don't think she does, anyway. To be honest, I don't know what she knows, but I am sure that she is not bad."

"Ah, then who owns you, Amoret?" Syera sniffed a strand of Amoret's hair yet again, crunching the slight wetness of it between her fingers. She turned to eye Faolán and questioned, "Where exactly did you find her? I can't distinguish what village she is from when she smells of wolfsbane and nothing else."

"Did your snout stop working?" Maël took a gulp of the infected air before coughing. He quickly agreed, "You're right. I can't smell anything besides wolfsbane. It's a bit nasty to reek of it that much."

"It is rather strong," Njálli chimed in. He looked at Amoret with a friendly but playful grin. "If I didn't know any better, then I would assume that Amoret must not like our company. Or, any company that resembles ours, that is."

Syera craned her neck forward to look at her from above. Amoret felt her bottom turn numb as it rested on the ground, amazed that Syera was squatting behind her with great ease. The lycan, while leaning over Amoret, peered into the woman's trembling eyes. "Tell me, little human, how old are you to be leaving your village by yourself?"

Amoret found herself fighting a battle from within. She studied the depth of the beast—recalling the cautionary teachings, nightmares, and stories that her mother used in an effort to deter her only daughter from exploring the truth. Amoret felt ashamed, for all she could recognize was confusion. "I turned twenty-two last April," she whispered.

"What?" Faolán gasped, "You're in your twenties?"

Amoret was too stunned to reply. Instead, she stared into the glistening skin of the female lycan. Syera smiled with teeth that packed a vicious bite. "You are funny, Faolán."

"Funny?" Njálli laughed. "Faolán knowingly stole a young, human girl from her village."

"That's not very good, Faolán." Maël frowned as he tsked the boy. "We'll be sure to tell your brother."

Faolan growned, sighing as he opened his mouth to speak, but was interrupted. Syera was swift to defend the traveller as she had noticed the bruises that coated Amoret's glaring skin. The lycan gently gripped the woman's upper arms, feeling a thin bone and little fat. "Maybe Faolán had the urge to feed her. Have you been alone for a while, Amoret?"

Amoret shook her head. She felt the warmth of the lycan's palm kneading the twitching muscles of her arms. Her form started to melt into the she-wolf. "Only a day, I-I believe."

"Then, let's celebrate your visit, shall we?"

Amoret looked to Faolán. She craved for reassurance—that perhaps if her travel companion trusted the towering figures of three, then she could relax in their presence, as well. They had represented the good kind of beasts. Though he was safe with his fellow lycans, Faolán shuffled his feet, embarrassed at being caught by his new friend. Amoret did not understand why he suddenly appeared distant. They had just survived a beast, and they were now accompanying three more. She thought that her mother must not have met beasts like Maël, Njálli, and Syera.

Amoret was hoisted into the air. She fell back into Syera's full chest and gripped at the lycan's neck, touching stubble that was growing back. Syera had patches of her head shaved. An unladylike element that her mama would loathe.

"You'll find that many of us will ache to meet you."

W O R D C O U N T : 2538

hello!

I've recently learned that my point-of-view is third person, which I already knew, but not that it consists of both omniscient and limited aspects. You'll find that this story will follow the life of Amoret, however, the insight that you'll have into other characters is dependent on who they are. Faolán is already easy to understand, but other characters will not always be like this.

I think that's really interesting.

Also, I just wanted to mention that I am trying to follow a stable schedule for updating. For now, since it is manageable for me, I will be updating a relatively large chapter once a month.

funn_sizedd - Evanescence,
the condition of lasting for only a short time, then disappearing quickly and being forgotten.