Settle soft and as pure as snow ;

whisk her away <3

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Melodious laughter rang in her head as blurry images swam behind her eyes. Then screams began to replace the laughter, and darkness flooded the bright images. Her head began to throb, and her wrists burned. She, she couldn't remember anything. She could remember her childhood, but it all became blank once she matured. Nothing made sense. What brought her to these snowy slopes? Where was her family?

"Where am I?" She whispered, her voice hoarse as if she had been screaming at the top of her lungs. She tried to clear her throat, but a soft cry left her at the sharp pain. What happened to her?

She glanced down at her paws, and her eyes went wide. She had circular burns on her wrists, yet she could not figure out what had done this to her. Hec's heart thrummed loudly in her chest, but the roar in her ears drowned its rapid beating. Her mind wanted to process what had happened, but it was too much too soon. Everything blurred, and the voices became a cluttered mess, forcing Hecate to shut her eyes once again.

She wanted to sleep, to fall into the chill that was creeping up her body. It was too much.

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He had fallen into silence.

As cold and still as the snowy mountains. He had not been the best man, it had seemed, and perhaps he knew it. He was not without sin. His hands and mind stained with things that spanned years and lives. He needed to return to simply living for the day.

He had not anticipated this to be his day.

A woman, light and lean, seemingly not equipped for this place. Eyes closed. Did she truly look cold or had he simply imagined it? He should have been a solid guardian, but instead he melted into medic at once. Worried that she might become a frozen corpse upon their land.

“Neuling, — newcomer” He uttered as he lowered himself slight. “Can you hear me?”

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Hecate could hear the soft crunching the snow nearby. The woman barely moved, almost willing to accept her fate should it be a hungry predator. Hecate had a suspicion that big cats roamed these mountains. Maybe even other dangerous creatures lived here.

Snow had already begun to clump along thick lashes, weighing down the woman's eyes. But when a warmth reached out like a beacon in a world of darkness, Hecate fought to open her eyes. She would not lose to the cold. To the sleep her body craved so much.

"Wha-what?" She could barely reply, her voice scratchy. It hurt her to speak, to answer whoever was talking. A soft nod was the only thing Hecate could give the man in reply to his answer. Her body ached; the burns on her wrists were flames that licked at her limbs. Their flames were a reminder of a memory she could not remember. Of things she wanted to remember.

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She was weak, and he meant no foulness in thinking such.

Only that she seemed frail to the cold. Her voice hardly a sizable thing, more of a scratched whisper, as if they shared secrets.

It was here — crouched close with watchful eyes — that he saw injuries upon forearms. Close to the paws, but high enough above to hopefully not injure her ability to walk. Singed. How had such an injury become her in the icy slopes of Morðfjall?

“You vill not survive out here.”

Did she understand that much? Did she hear the strained tension in his voice?

“You must rise. You must be strong to stay here. I vill help only if you do this.” Even then he could only help her until the pale crow of Hrafnsvaktin passed judgement upon her.

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The man was talking, but nothing was registering in her mind. She was so cold, and sleep called to her like a siren, singing promises of warmth and eternal rest. The pain worsening from the winter's icy touch made Hecate want to believe the winter's song.

You vill not survive out here. The sentence broke through the fog, a promise of death should she give into the song. She didn't want to die. Hecate had things she wanted, needed to do. Hecate held onto that thought, that feeling it brought her. She wanted to survive this.

You must be strong to stay here. How could she tell him that she was not strong? That she wanted to give up already, even though she had only been here for some minutes. While her mind could not remember her past, she could feel the pain and tiredness that plagued her body. Hecate had suffered, but why or how, she couldn't remember.

"Please." She whispered, heavy tears welling at the corners of her eyes. "I... don't... want... to... die." A raspy sob ripped out of her; the sound made her throat hurt, and she tried to stop. Hecate didn't want to hurt anymore.

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paladin/bodyguard

---

She sobbed, she choked on them.

A tear in his heart. He did not want to infantize her but he was reminded very much of a babe. Cry, mewling, weak to the world. Bartel had been chosen — for one reason or another, all beyond him — by the universe to save this. He had felt marred and sinful, so the universe had sent him redemption.

“Prove it.”

His voice was firm and pointed now. He would not be careful guiding hands, but he would give her the strength needed to carry on. He swung his muzzle to prod at her shoulders and hips now. Rise was the wordless command.

“Ve must move out of the cold.”

He could guide her and shield her to a den, but if she could not walk, his help might be beyond them both.

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Hecate's savior was harsh. His words cut her like a knife, and his harsh nudges felt like he was stabbing at her weakened body. Hecate wanted to sleep. She was tired of the pain, tired of the headache that plagued her anytime she tried to think.

"Hurt." She croaked, now blinking open her bleary eyes. "It hurts." Hecate didn't want to speak anymore. She wanted to sleep.

But in the midst of her pain, Hecate knew this man was here to save her. He was an angel sent to find her. "An angel." She whispered, her unfocused eyes looking around at the grayish landscape. The man stood out like a dark mountain, a structure protecting her from the cold. Hecate wanted to wrap herself in warmth, but she couldn't move.

Ve must move out of the cold. A slight whine left Hecate's lips when she began to unravel the puzzle that was her limbs. The burns on her forelimbs cried when she slid them beneath her in an attempt to rise.

After some failed attempts, the girl stood on shaking limbs. "H-help." A shaky breath left her as she tried to take a step forward. Cate felt the tears stream down her cheeks, the cold latching onto them as they rolled. "What... is.. your... name?"

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paladin/bodyguard

---

Had she magically awoken in his dens, placed in safety by Gods beyond, this would have been easier.

He could have soothed pains and tended the marks upon her forelegs. Instead he had to become a brute. It was very possible she might come to hate him for this moment if she stayed long — and he would not blame her one bit. As long as she survived, such was his goal.

Her begging continued to press against his heartstrings.

What would @Stjörnuáti make of her when he laid eyes upon her? Would she weep then too? Would the pale raven be as kind as Bartel felt in these moments? He felt protective by nature and yet he knew the realities of his people, of this mountain. He wished only the best for her in this situation.

“I vill tell you...if you make it to the den.” A thing to motivate her, perhaps.

He gently leaned against her shoulder to provide himself as stability against her weakened legs. Prepared for however long this walk might take them.

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super short post im so sorry !

---

Cate just wanted the man to be kinder and let her rest. She was so tired, so scared. The girl had no idea what was happening or why she couldn't remember her past or family. Or even why she woke up on this mountain alone. The questions swirled around in her head, almost drowning out his words. Her mind wanted answers, answers Hecate knew she couldn't receive.

I vill tell you...if you make it to the den."You jerk." She grumbled, her words but a whisper despite her wishes to snap at the man. But Cate knew he was simply helping, even if his manner was unconventional.

"You are cruel, Sir." She muttered as she allowed the man to guide her to gods' know where. Her paws felt heavy, like heavy stones dragging through the thick blanket of snow. The cold seeped into her limbs, and a harsh shiver coursed through her body. Cate felt the tips of her ears grow hot, and she kept her gaze locked on her paws. Just keep walking.

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paladin/bodyguard

---

Cruel, she called him.

He bit his tongue. Torn between prodding at her with what he might find humorous and knowing that it would certainly be far from bedside manners. Instead he remained silent and kept her close to the thick of his fur. She would smell of Hrafnsvaktin, of him, of his herbs. Things that would keep her safe from prying eyes enough for her to rest and begin to heal.

Assuming that she did not fatally falter, Bartel would deliver her to his own den.

“Come inside. Lay.”

So that he might place himself between her and the world, to keep the worst of the cold at bay.

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Cate allowed the man to guide her down the mountainside, her head pressed to his neck. She was putting her life in his hands, and while the girl wished she could do this on her own, she knew better. She couldn't walk without his help. Couldn't even help herself without his help.

She was utterly helpless.

Cate didn't argue when the stranger instructed her to lie down. Hecate finally took in the man's features while in the growing light within his den. His scent was in every crevice of the place, flooding her senses with the fresh aroma of herbs and snow. So distinctly him.

"Will you... tell me your... name now, Sir? I would like... to thank you... properly." Cate's question was broken by coughs and soft gasps. Her throat was on fire as every word clawed its way out. It itched and burned, but there was nothing she could do to soothe her pain but suffer through it. Cate kept her hope that the man would provide something to help her soon, or she just might give up.

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He did not want to call her small or weak. Not even delicate.

Yet still he worried that any sudden movement or loud sound might break whatever held her together. He did not flatter himself by thinking it was him or his strength that kept her living in these fragile moments of rebirth.

“Bartel. Hold your thanks until ve make it through the night.”

His voice seemed to vibrate in the closed in space.

Already he began to work on soaking and making a paste for her to consume. Something to help with that raspy throat first. A simple thing, it would not take him long.

“Take.” He instructed softly as he offered the paste on a leaf to her.

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Bartel. It was quite unusual for her, but it had an interesting ring to it. The man was a bit cold in his mannerisms, sharp and directive. But Hecate felt that he did not want to hurt her. Bartel may be a man of few words, but Cate could see he knew what he was doing. Perhaps he was a healer in his pack? Or just a member who knew how herbs worked.

When the man turned with an odd-looking paste on a leaf, her eyes narrowed. "What is it?" While Cate knew she was in no place to question the man, her mind warned her against taking whatever he was pushing toward her. What if, in his act of helping, he meant to harm her?

Though Cate had lost most, if not all, of her memories, something within her screamed to be careful—as if men were a danger.

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super short im sorry ;u;

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