Lyco kept moving forward, onward, acutely aware of something stalking her. There was no sound to betray it, no eerie shadow stretching behind her, no scent to detect, no body to scrape and tear at - that was what made her most afraid, knowing she couldn't make it spill blood. It was pointless to escape her occasional nightmares, for when they did come she was incapable of rational thought.Hence the running. Really, who thought they could outrun dreams but those who couldn't think straight?
The teen had no particular destination in mind, and only vaguely noted when she had left the boundaries. A sliver of light was ahead: the rising dawn. She broke into a sudden run, letting her mind and body get whisked away as she bounded forward, stumbling several times but managing to keep herself going headlong before it turned into a nasty crash. It was only when she had carved a track right through the river northeast of the Reign of Terror that Lycosidae stopped, panting, twitching form the stubs she had experienced along the way.
Images of death blurred together in her mind from her dream. Growing up in the family that she had, death was such a part of the norm (or rather, morbidity), that she was normally desensitized to it. Tonight, her mind decided to get trickier, playing out a battle: herself versus a very different wolf, the one that Lyco felt had been bubbling from the very core of her being ever since she had first shed blood. The one whose fangs protruded upward just like her very markings about the mouth, whose eyes gleamed, who had no blue talisman to keep the monster at bay, whose eyes were gouged and freely flowing, bloody tears were spurting out. Lycosidae had watched this other self smirk humorlessly and begin to leave a streak of carnage behind her, the extra hair at its back waving in an invisible wind. And she was disturbed when her dream self placed a paw in one of the indentions the apparition left behind and found it was a perfect match.
It was irrational, really, to be so paranoid by a single dream as to leave one's den and pack, to flee from safety and into the wild just to . . . to what? She hadn't escaped it after all. It was still fresh in her mind, grinning like a demon on her father's pelt. There was no point being here at all in the end!
Then agian, Lycosidae wasn't known for her brains or rational thinking. That was for Oson'gar and Olivine. She was just instinct, for what that as worth . . .
Catching her breath, she plopped right in the middle of the shallow river, shivering from the cold current as she looked to the growing light, praying it came soon.
