Gilded Heart

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When dawn came, she began digging a large whole in the center of the garden, burying her grandfather there. Blisters had formed on her hands and healed over and over as she shoveled dirt back and forth. She cried the entire time she shoveled dirt, stopping to collapse and cry on his body as she carried it to the hole. When she was done, she planted a daisy plant at the head of his grave as a place marker, sitting on the soft dirt. 

It took her a long time before she was able to leave his burial site, heading back into the house to change her now dirty clothes. She put on clean trousers, a deep emerald green color, another white shirt with a sage green tunic over. She tied her dagger to her side, as well as tying Maynord's two daggers over her chest. She spent a long time braiding her hair in many, multiple braids down her back, tying a hooded cape over her shoulders, pulling the dark hood over her head. 

The whites of her eyes were bloodshot, the area around her eyes and cheeks were red too from the hours and hours of endless crying. If she had known that asking about the truth of her parents, of herself, of her kind, would lead to this happening, she would've never asked. Maybe if she listened more, if she believed in Maynord, if she obeyed. But she did, she obeyed, she learned, she listened, she believed. They found her in the forest, in their usual area, the area that was meant to be safe had become unsafe all in one single night. Her life completely changed, completely flipped, in just a couple hours. 

She packed only a small satchel of supplies, mainly the leftover food they just shared from their feast the night before. Her hands shook, trembling with the memories, the very close memories and the harsh reality of the now. She fought the urge to cry once again and barely mustered the strength to leave the cottage, kneeling at his grave one last time before leaving and never turning back. 

"Hybrids are forbidden, as they said. You will be hunted by both man and wolf the rest of your life. Protect yourself, stay hidden. You must go from here, more will come. I'm sorry, Ameerah. I'm sorry."

She knew she could not stay, she knew she could not linger in that house any longer. The corpses of those wolves still lie dead in the living room and once others find them--friends of those wolves--they will be after her again. Everything came crashing on her so harshly, so swiftly, with no warning. She went from being ignorantly happy, living with her grandfather in that cottage, to now being a fugitive to the world, anything and everything now out to kill her just because of what she is. 

This was only going to be the beginning of her very long, painful journey. She'd never have peace again, never have safety. Everything she once knew and loved died with her grandfather. It was now her against the world, for as long as she could survive.

~ : ~ : ~

For six long, cold months, Ameerah has fought and ran for her life. 

At this point, she knew not what state she was in or who's territory was who's. It was the first time she was seeing the world and she was seeing it in a blur, constantly running and running, passing the point of exhaustion and pushing herself harder than ever before. Every single creature that ran her way, she slaughtered. She felt as if she was losing herself, the amount of killing she'd been doing just to survive left a heavy weight on her shoulder, weighing her down as she went.

She had faster healing than any normal werewolf, her speed was greater than that of any wolf, except the one in her dream which caught her every night, even while she was on the run. She found out too, the very hard way, that she was immune to silver but, instead, had a great weakness to iron. On part of her run, she found a group of human hybrid-hunters who shot iron-tipped arrows at her, one scraping across her leg. That was nearly three weeks ago now and the scrape was finally, fully healed. She could only imagine the type of damage it would cause if she were fully pierced and just how much agony she might be in. She also learned that it was true that only hybrids had glowing golden eyes which--although she could hide her hair, she could not hide her eyes which gave her away every single time. She was hopeful that that wasn't the case, that maybe another werewolf would have golden eyes so she wouldn't be so easily spotted but it was true; only hybrids had golden eyes. All the other werewolves she encountered had any other color of the spectrum; green, blue, purple, silver. 

Night had fallen yet again and she found herself hiding under a fallen tree trunk, covered in thick green moss and grass, concealing her against whatever creatures might be lurking in the dark. She was panting, her lungs burning and her legs aching. She was nearing her breaking point. She ran too much with little to no food in her stomach, her blood sugar levels were too low for her to continue like this and yet she couldn't even get a moment to hunt for she was constantly hunted. Every second she turned, every slight chance she had to breathe, it was something or someone else that came after her. She would barely get away long enough to find a spot to sleep for just a couple hours before having to get up and start her sprint again. 

Her vision at night was imperative, it was as if it was as clear as day to her, giving her a little advantage over some of the wolves that stalked in the darkness. She only stopped and rested for a moment, giving her enough time to re-braid her long white hair and tighten her belt around her trousers, her tunic and trousers covered in so much dirt and grime. She couldn't even find the chance or the short moment to bathe in a river, in a stream, to clean her clothes or something. She was living like a rat, running from predators, living in mud and dirt, scrounging for food when she could find it. 

Her lungs and throat were on fire as she sat there, trying desperately to catch what little breath she had left. Mentally, Ameerah was falling apart. The constant fear had left her living with nothing but anxiety and paranoia and, physically, her body could hardly do anything anymore. She was running on empty and she had a feeling whatever hunted her knew that as well.

She found herself, many nights when she collapsed somewhere dark and dank, turning to the moon, crying and begging the Goddess. She tried to desperately understand why any of this was happening to her, why the Goddess made her this way, why she gave her father a human mate, why there was so much hatred against hybrids, why no one could stop and listen and believe her. How could she live like this?

Lying down in her dark and hidden spot, she was silently thanking the Goddess for at least granting her with no scent and all her other abilities. As part of being a Hybrid, hybrids had no scent, she learned, as it was not her masking her scent but truly because she had no scent. Due to the mixture of werewolf blood and human blood, she smelt like neither, she smelt like nothing.

Her own sense of smell and her hearing were exceptional, far better than any werewolf. She kept herself deathly still, listening closely for any movement in the forest around her, but there was none, along with no scent. All of them had lost her after she passed the river a few miles back. That was enough to grant her a few moments to sleep, her eyes shutting instantly and sleep consuming her. 

She had the same dream, the same nightmare every single night. It made her time on the run even harder to bear. Her sleep was plagued with fear as well as her everyday life. She tossed and turned quietly, her body so sore and stiff from running and running and fighting for her life. She couldn't even catch a moment in peace for even in her dream she ran for her life, finding herself with the same fate every night, a fate she was beginning to believe was her reality. 

Just when the beasts jaws in her dream came snapping down on her--as her dream always ended--she heard the distant snapping of a branch and was on high alert, her sleep being cut short.