FALLEN | rowan whitethorn x oc

CHAPTER FIFTEEN - where are dorian and aelin

PART II - into the depths of your world 

Things were different.

Things were very different.

And Isabella knew it was not only her who had changed, but them, too.

It took them a week to reach the small village close to Bellhaven where the four males had left her horse. Three more weeks of going northwest, and reaching the borders between Fenharrow and Adarlan. And in those weeks of travel, Isabella could feel the change in the tip of her fingers, buzzing around her as if alive, and inside of her, twirling and evolving.

Before, she had never helped them. No matter how many times she offered.

Now, she didn't care if they wanted her help or not, nor if she asked and they told her to just sit and wait. Now, Isabella just acted. She was of assistance without saying a word, and they did not complain.

Before, she had barely talked with them.

Now, she had small talks with all of them. And even when silence reigned in the group, it was immeasurably comforting. Pleasant.

Before, she had stopped trying.

Now, she tried. At least she tried. She was trying, at last.

And if at night she was still a prey to her nightmares, in the fullness of time, she had learned to become a ghost to her own horrors. What was a land of terrors with no ghosts? A void?

Now, she found recognition in herself. In her past. And fears and dread and insecurities and curses.

Now, she was honest with herself.

Now, she was learning to heal.

With hope at last, she was living.

So she trained her balance and coordination with Gavriel, her agility with Fenrys, her limits -and pushing them- with Lorcan, and her strength with Rowan. And if sometimes -most times- they shouted at each other, or Isabella wanted to give up -or kick their balls-, things were not awful.

She had learned, with time, that Lorcan showed his disapproval with deadly glares and loud growls. And he had learned that Isabella showed her anger by cursing him in her own language. He hated it. It drove him mad. So mad that he often ended their classes with his cheeks and neck colored in red.

Gavriel was a gentle, yet firm, teacher. He did not mind repeating himself thousands of times if that was what she needed. If he got mad, however, she was on her own. Repeating the exercises over and over again until he was satisfied.

Fenrys' lessons were the funniest, because the male enjoyed to shift into his animal form in the middle of a class, and would purr when she did something right, and shove his head into whatever part of her body that was not doing what she was supposed to be doing. Isabella had learned, also, that if she petted the wolf behind his ears, he tended to be in a better mood for the entirety of the class. So, naturely, she gave him pets every day.

Rowan, on the other hand, was brutal. Savage. Merciless. He said everything to her face, every single mistake, and she was sure he did not really mind if he hurt her feelings by doing so. But he also taught her how to correct every one of her wrongdoings. And when she did something right, she could swear pride twinkled in his pine-green eyes.

Her days were spent partly walking -or riding-, advancing to their destination, and partly training. So much that she usually went to sleep with her feet swollen, her whole body sore, and sweat glistening against her skin.