r.i.p to my youth <<>> mercy mikaelson

thirty-nine

| paradise (n): an ideal or idyllic place or state |

TAYEN WAS RIGHT. Time did work differently here.

Mercy seemed to have spent days in the same, golden grasslands of the werewolves' resting place, surrounded by training—whether that be with weapons or knowledge. Keokuk was still just as harsh, but she was getting better, more fluid with the new style of combat. Even outside of training, she felt lighter on her feet, as if she could step across the wind. She had learned how to feel things she had never felt before using Keokuk's plentiful tricks. One of those tricks was sensing a shift in the air, specifically by using the cloak on her shoulders—his very own gift to her when she was a child. Since the fabric was drenched in werewolf magic, as Keokuk said, Mercy could connect to it, and feel it when an attack was coming. It had taken a bit of practice, and there were times when she didn't catch it, but it hadn't been that long... Had it?

Honestly, Mercy could hardly remember the outside world, as if she was drunk on ambrosia and stumbling across some mythical trail that would only bring her trouble. She was consumed with this paradise, the feeling filling her body with a perfect sense of peace. She couldn't contain her own happiness, and after a few nights spent there—or at least, it felt like a few nights—she had seemingly transformed almost completely.

But there was still more work to do.

Focusing on this work, Mercy stood across from Nahele, the man peering at her with curious intrigue. His eyes were not as piercing as Keokuk's, but they had a weight to it just the same.

But she remained patient; Keokuk told her it was the most important thing to remember. Even though Mercy had spent her entire life rushing through things, she found that the waiting—the cautious, silent waiting—was beneficial in more ways than one. She didn't jump to fill the silence; she didn't ache for the training to move faster; she simply waited for the time to come, and soon enough, it did.

"Keokuk told me you've been improving greatly," Nahele began with his smooth voice, floating around her like a whimsical tune. She nodded at his words, and his lips twitched ever so slightly upward. "You've already come along well."

"Thank you," she replied politely, watching as he clasped his hands behind his back. He ducked his head, walking around the grasslands as if he were on a leisurely stroll.

"You know what I represent for the wolves?" He questioned, not looking at her.

She nodded despite his lack of attention. "You're the Spirit of the Forest," Mercy replied, remembering the words as if he had just spoken them to her.

"Good," he smiled, raising his head. "But what does that correlate to?"

Mercy didn't have an answer; in all honesty, after her time with Keokuk, she'd realized that she truly didn't know anything about the First Powers. She thought she did, but she was sorely mistaken. Already, she'd been proven wrong in her assumptions, and she waited for Nahele to explain. Like before, the answer came soon enough, and Mercy thought she was finally getting the hang of this patience thing.