Relationship Status: It's Complicated

WEARING: xxx
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The night was cold. Winter was cold. For all the places Gerwald had been, he had never quite liked arctic temperatures. The clothing and furs provided were comfortable, but he preferred temperate climates. He was a spring wolf, a river wolf according to the journal his ancestor had left behind. Perhaps that explained his love of the water, but Gerwald would rather swim in it than walk on it.
He needed a fire.
Slowly he carried himself to the great hearth and hall which the refugees had been calling home since their pilgrimage north. Gerwald still found sleep difficult to come by despite the fact he no longer bore the ring around his neck. The Devourer no longer plagued his dreams, but the weight of what had been required to keep his promise to Naedira pulled on him constantly. He was her tether now, the only thing which kept her in the land of the living.
The earlier events of the day plagued his mind as well. He knew he had taken his frustrations and disappointments too far. Aelin had taken the title of Anasa and ran to the arms of the north, despite his insistence she put aside the advice the others were giving her on that matter. Just because Borre had been her teacher, it did not mean his advice was good. No, whatever she did now would only see her become indebted to the North. Aelin was no longer the free wolf he had known her to be.
She was shackled.
Caged.
Gerwald cared too deeply for the woman to see her in the position she now found herself in. There was no part of her which was free to do as she wished, not now. She had sold herself to the whims and council of others who did not have her best interest in mind. All they could think about was ridding Islimore of the Fayth. None of them had the capacity to understand what it meant to be truly free.
It was in part why Gerwald refused to tie himself to their cause entirely. He empathized with them, certainly, but they were too busy playing victim. Oh, he knew if he ever voiced such an opinion he would be ridiculed more than he already was. Gerwald had lived where they were, under the weight of constant fear of what may happen simply because of what, who, he was. The Outlander knew their frame of mind more intimately than any of them would give him credit for, or that they would be willing to admit.
His icy blue stare fixated on the flames in front of him. He simply watched as they danced about. A wisp of his hand and a ball of fire floated above his open palm as though he commanded it.
He did.
It was the one weapon the Fayth could not command, nature. This was how they would defeat them. Gerwald could teach them to control the mountains, water, wind, fire. No amount of technology would be able to stand against the raw power of the elements. It was an advantage the Lupo could command, and it would be the one thing which would level the field of battle.
He sighed. Gerwald could hear the footsteps shuffling about the stone floor even before the strange scent filled his nostrils.
“Should I call you she-wolf or witch,” he asked without looking away from the fire. “Of all the wolves I have met, you are certainly the most unique.”
He needed a fire.
Slowly he carried himself to the great hearth and hall which the refugees had been calling home since their pilgrimage north. Gerwald still found sleep difficult to come by despite the fact he no longer bore the ring around his neck. The Devourer no longer plagued his dreams, but the weight of what had been required to keep his promise to Naedira pulled on him constantly. He was her tether now, the only thing which kept her in the land of the living.
The earlier events of the day plagued his mind as well. He knew he had taken his frustrations and disappointments too far. Aelin had taken the title of Anasa and ran to the arms of the north, despite his insistence she put aside the advice the others were giving her on that matter. Just because Borre had been her teacher, it did not mean his advice was good. No, whatever she did now would only see her become indebted to the North. Aelin was no longer the free wolf he had known her to be.
She was shackled.
Caged.
Gerwald cared too deeply for the woman to see her in the position she now found herself in. There was no part of her which was free to do as she wished, not now. She had sold herself to the whims and council of others who did not have her best interest in mind. All they could think about was ridding Islimore of the Fayth. None of them had the capacity to understand what it meant to be truly free.
It was in part why Gerwald refused to tie himself to their cause entirely. He empathized with them, certainly, but they were too busy playing victim. Oh, he knew if he ever voiced such an opinion he would be ridiculed more than he already was. Gerwald had lived where they were, under the weight of constant fear of what may happen simply because of what, who, he was. The Outlander knew their frame of mind more intimately than any of them would give him credit for, or that they would be willing to admit.
His icy blue stare fixated on the flames in front of him. He simply watched as they danced about. A wisp of his hand and a ball of fire floated above his open palm as though he commanded it.
He did.
It was the one weapon the Fayth could not command, nature. This was how they would defeat them. Gerwald could teach them to control the mountains, water, wind, fire. No amount of technology would be able to stand against the raw power of the elements. It was an advantage the Lupo could command, and it would be the one thing which would level the field of battle.
He sighed. Gerwald could hear the footsteps shuffling about the stone floor even before the strange scent filled his nostrils.
“Should I call you she-wolf or witch,” he asked without looking away from the fire. “Of all the wolves I have met, you are certainly the most unique.”