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

six

| struggle (n): a forceful or violent effort to get free of restraint or resist attacks |

   MERCY HUFFED IN annoyance, wondering what was supposed to happen as her eyes remained closed, trying to follow Tokala's multiple instructions. Despite her focus, she kept finding herself waiting for something—though she wasn't exactly sure what that something could be. She made sure that she was doing everything Tokala told her to: relax her body—yes, even her shoulders—open her chest, breathe evenly, and focus on the werewolf bond that was settled deep in her stomach, where it had lived for the past eight years of her life. She knew how to find it, knew how to do everything, but the problem she was having was clearing her mind of all of the things that currently held its attention.

She knew that they had been sitting like this, in a calm silence, for a few hours now. Her legs were sore from sitting in the crossed legged position for so long, but she didn't dare to move. Tokala had been as silent as ever, only really speaking up when he felt that Mercy wasn't paying as much attention as she should've been—like now, for example.

"You're not letting everything go," he told her, and her eyes flew open, frustrated and annoyed by the lack of progress. It had been hours, and she wasn't any closer to finding contact with the wolf ancestors. She had even been thinking ferociously of Akela, trying to use the connection that she had to the woman to pull her in the right direction, but to no good use.

She rolled her eyes, abruptly standing up from the forest ground and glaring down at the boy, who only calmly opened his eyes and watched her in cool indifference. "This isn't working," she confessed, but he just raised his eyebrows.

"Really?" He mused. "I haven't noticed."

Her glare sharpened as she crossed her arms. "I can't do it, at least not today," she said with a frown. Her mind was working at a million miles an hour, thinking of her dad, what Jordyn had told her earlier in the day, and now with worries that she wasn't good enough at speaking with these stupid ancestors.

"Relax," he said slowly, as if trying to get her to mimic the way his breath flowed out of his mouth in a full, lazy swoop. "You're letting all of these minuscule things form in the forefront of your mind, but you have to let them pass instead of overthinking them." He shrugged, still not moving from his relaxed spot on the ground. "Don't think at all, if it's possible."

"Well, it's not possible," she muttered stubbornly, feeling like a child in comparison to him. She hated not getting things right away, especially when she was in a mood like the one she was in today. She was full of tension, and quite frankly, she would rather train with Manuel than sit here and do nothing. "Can we just move on to something different? Please?"

She looked at him, but found that he was already staring at her, a strange look in his eyes. She avoided his gaze, deciding to stare out at the tree line as a blush coated her face. It was silent between the two, but Mercy was definitely not going to break it. She had already shown how vulnerable she was with all of these new things, and she would rather have him make the first move.