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Amnestria’s flower didn’t move, and we sat in silence for a moment as I wove flowers and vines in a circle.
“He didn’t truly hurt me.” Other than piercing a hole into my ear, which I still didn’t understand why. “He wanted to see me again, and he kept Keia with him, that bully!”
But he hadn’t truly hurt her either.
I frowned, inserting twigs into my piece of work. “I went back to get her the next morning, and he… saved me. He healed me, and then he said he wants me.” I scoffed, tightening on the vines and twigs to keep them in place. “There’s something wrong with him. He does not behave according to the books. He is… gentle.” I paused and gave her flower an incredulous look. “Can you believe that? He is careful with me, and he is always doing all these sorts of actions that I don’t understand. I know Spiders are creatures of actions, but it bothers me. I don’t understand him, and I don’t think I want to.”
I tugged on some of the twigs with my blunt teeth, pulling on them to secure the vines and flowers. Once satisfied, I filled out the little gaps with more flowers, alternating colours and sizes.
“He was upset after seeing me with Snow yesterday,” I continued quietly, sighing as my piece of work began to near completion. “I know he was, but I don’t understand why. He became aggressive and demanding, and he insisted that I was his even when I kept refusing. I don’t understand him.”
I didn’t understand why he still let me live. I didn’t understand why he insisted on seeing me again, on thinking I belonged to him. Didn’t understand why seeing me with Snow bothered him, or why he wanted me, or what he wanted me as.
I didn’t understand why I was even thinking about him in the first place.
Frowning, I shook my head, then raised my completed flower crown before Amnestria’s blue hydrangea with a grin.
“Oh, you’d adore this one.” I lowered the crown with her flower in the middle of it, gently setting it down so it surrounded her in a pretty wall of blues and yellows and greens and whites.
And for a moment, I imagined setting it on her head instead—that instead of placing it on the ground, I’d place it on her pastel blue hair that matched mine. I imagined the broad grin that would stretch her lips and how her pastel blue eyes would brighten like water shimmering under the sunlight. She’d say it was the most beautiful thing ever, even though we both knew my skills were not as impressive as hers. She’d fling her arms around me and pull me close, and she’d scatter kisses all over my face as if I was still a fifty Blue Moons child while bathing me with sweet words of affection.
I sniffled, and when I blinked, a fat drop of liquid splattered on the pretty crown I’d made for her. Amnestria’s blue hydrangea shook again. My bottom lip trembled as I rushed to wipe at my eyes with the back of my hand, a wobbly laugh escaping me when my tears refused to cease.
“Pyria h-had a male Fairy impress her, you know?” My voice shook, and I swallowed hard to ease the lump in my throat. “She will return her answer today, and I will go along with a few others to accompany her.”
While I’d heard of it happening a few times before, I’d never seen a Fairy impressing an Elf. It wasn’t uncommon, but normally, no one wanted to crossbreed so they could maintain pure and strong bloodlines of their own.
And it stung me to think that, under different circumstances, Amnestria would have gone with me. She would have linked an arm with mine and made us wear matching flower crowns, and she would have made us roam the Market just so I could explore and have fun.
Her flower shook again, almost quivering, and I swallowed down the would haves with another empty laugh. I wiped at my eyes until no more tears spilled, and only then did I remove my hands to gaze at her blue hydrangea.
“No tears.” I nodded with a twitchy smile.
Her hole-littered leaves swayed with a gentle breeze.
I clapped my hands together and sat straighter, forcing a grin on my lips. “Let me tell you what I heard about Pyria’s potential mate. Olari believes there’s never been a beauty like him before…”
Madness. It was absolute madness what I was going to do, but the need to know ate at me like a sickness deep in my bones. So many things didn’t make sense to me. So many things I didn’t understand and needed to if I was going to visit him again. I had to know how to interact with him so I could understand his intentions better. So I could handle it when things went wrong again. Words wouldn’t mean much to him, and I didn’t want to unknowingly set him off or provoke him again.
His aggression was easier to understand and deal with than his more… milder behaviours. He was a Cyrva. Cyrvas weren’t known to be mild in any way. If there was a breed more likely to kill me on sight rather than toy with me, it would have been his. He should have ended me in the most violent, brutal way imaginable. Not kept me alive and demanded I went back to him day after day. Not healed me and behaved so… how would I even describe his behaviour?
I sighed, slowing my steps as I neared my intended area. Situated near flowing water and under a thick canopy of leaves, the teaching grounds was where some of our Elders carried out all the passing of knowledge. It was a quiet, serene area that made it easy to let go of everything and focus on my father’s gentle voice as he explained the nature of the Werewolves to the younger Elves. He sat on the ground in a circle with his students, various thick books laid out in front of them with pictures too small for me to see from that distance. But I’d read these books before, so I vaguely recalled some of the illustrations after a quick scan of the tanned pages.
“As they are also creatures of actions, eye contact can be highly dangerous. It will always call forth a reaction from the Werewolf because it will be interpreted as a challenge or invitation—either to fight or mate. Neither outcome is the better end, so you best keep your eyes away when encountering one of them.”
“What if you have to look at them?”
I glanced towards the youngster who asked. A good question, one I knew the answer to because I’d asked it before.
My father smiled, and I somehow knew he was remembering my question from the past. “Then you keep your gaze below their throat. Staring at their throat can be as dangerous as eye contact.”
“Is this for every Werewolf, or only the Alphas?”
My father nodded. “Assume every Werewolf you encounter is an Alpha. Their species runs according to dominance. We learned that the Alpha is the leader of a family or pack, and to be the Alpha, you must be the most dominant wolf. Strength and intelligence factor into that. But not every dominant Werewolf will be an Alpha because leadership is a choice for them. A right for which they must battle to the death to earn, and not everyone will choose that path. Our Fairy friends tell us that there could be two Werewolves present, but the one who isn’t Alpha could be the more dominant one. In that case, which is the more dangerous: an Alpha, or the more dominant?”
“The more dominant!” exclaimed a young female, her grin wide and pleased.
My father smiled wider. “Uncertain. An Alpha had to win a fight to the death to earn his title, which makes him dangerous, too. So to be safe, assume every Werewolf you meet is an Alpha. Our next lesson will explore ways you can settle a threatening situation if you ever find yourself in one.”
