Taaja Hart// ~Morning Glory~ //Halo Assault

[Taaja Hart]

There was a haze over the rising moon.

The slightest misting of dew slicked the grass under her feet, and drifted through the air. The moisture collected on her skin in tiny shimmering droplets as she moved easily through the woods. It wasn’t a difficult terrain to maneuver, really. If anything, this forest, she found, was relatively dead. The widespread canopy of pine, oak, maple and birch prevented much undergrowth from flourishing, choked as the forest floor was by dead needles and leaves, fallen logs and fungi, weeds and moss. Barren trails, perhaps walked by deer and rabbits, squirrels, maybe. Humans… humans, perhaps. But little foliage.

No morning glories.

Taaja bristled and hurriedly swiped her hands down her pale, bare arms, ridding herself of the feeling of dripping moisture down her skin. It was bloody blasphemous, she told herself sternly, to pretend even for a moment that she was anything more, and more human than what she actually was. Even now she felt the delicious pull of stolen energy, and enormous well of raw power, the lust to use it, fast, now. She could run. Run, like she were flying. But Taaja didn’t run. She walked slowly, slowly. Yet another one of the ways she could fool herself into thinking-

No.

If she admitted that she was fooling herself, was she indeed fooling herself?

No. Not at all.

Soft deerskin shoes made hardly a sound on the dead leaves and needles beneath her feet. Dead earth. Dead Taaja. Living blood lurking in her veins. She smiled wryly at the thought. Pausing in her travel, she took a moment to lean against the trunk of a slim birch tree, the white speckled bark peeling off it in curling ringlets. Taaja broke off a piece and turned it thoughtfully in her hands.

Three years. Three years and a few weeks now, that she’d left life, left love, left family, left everything behind for… for what? This? What was this, exactly? Did it matter what it was, just that it was? Taaja didn’t quite know anymore. The years were a constant. Three years, she knew, had passed, and many more would come and go. Like the tide. She’d seen the sea, now. Seen the deserts. Amazing, how far one could go with a thing like time on their side.

Memories, too, could fade. Taaja crumpled the round of birch bark in her hand and let it sprinkle to the ground at her feet. She was close to home. Closer than she’d been in those three years. Miles away, still, but close nonetheless. If she traveled any further east she might eventually come to the lake where she’d last seen---

Pain spread like wildfire from her chest, ripping through her core until she was forced to kneel at the side of the tree, steadying herself with one hand lest she topple over completely! She groaned once, and then quieted, swallowing back the agony before it had the chance to rip through her for a second round. Swallowing hard again, she passed a hand over her eyes, and then tucked a strand of dark hair that had fallen loose back into the braid that wound across her scalp. Emotion was a strange thing, now, in her state of being. Either it ran rampant, or it vanished entirely for months at a time. Now, being so close to where she’d once lived, the pesky emotions appeared to have come back with a vengeance after a three month hiatus during which time nothing, nothing obstructed her path to her own admittedly sick methods of personal justice.

This sudden onslaught of memory and emotion was not a good sign of things to come, Taaja told herself brusquely, brushing her palms off on her tan pants before she habitually adjusted her dark blouse. She would stay in the area long enough to feed and perhaps catch word on the whereabouts of Damien. No more.

And then she would leave once again.

[HaloAssault]

Faded memories of past joys had once more haunted his dreams, his nightmares, and slapped him awake with the brutality of the truth. These were not absent-minded, meaningless hopes and wishes, naive and airy thoughts; they were a glimpse of what could have, should have, would have, been. An insight into a life and love that should have blossomed and flourished, that instead...

That instead, had been destroyed, cast aside in one single moment of anguish. The scenes of the past ran through his mind, his skull the screen and his emotions the projector. Black and white, they were hued, a monotonous grey-scale that did no justice to the vibrant, aching colours of his feelings.

“You can’t, or you wont!?”
“Can’t, Henry! Can’t.”
Lunging for her, clasping her hand. So small in mine, petite, cold and pale, the moonless light providing little illumination with which to see her. Her hand, to my lips. Why, why would she not share with me? Did she no longer trust me? A year had passed apart, yet...I had not expected this.
“Tell me. I don’t understand. Something’s… something’s wrong. Taaja, please!”
I begged of her. She made me beg of her, to tell me, to trust me as she once had. It was worth it. She was worth it.
Circles of conversation. Her asserting the need to leave once more, me trying to convince her to confide in me. How I wished to help...to help her, the woman I admitted finally that I loved.
“You can’t come near me, do you understand? You cannot.”
Her words, a flash of physical pain, agony and anguish induced by the callousness of the words. She no longer loved me, perhaps, no longer wanted me. That, or she felt she could not trust me with her experiences, a fate worse than losing her love. I swallowed. Twice. Ached to hold her, cringed mentally at the thought of protracting the suffering, yet knowing I must touch her one last time before she left.
Agreeing to run. To leave with my family, to take them from all they had known. On her word, by her trust and my trust in her.
The morning glory I had plucked on impulse, my hand guiding it to her and hushing her protestations. Despite myself, I smiled as I tucked it into her damp hair. She always had been so breathtakingly beautiful.
A kiss, if a brief one. One to remember, tingling upon my lips as I bid my love farewell. One to show her I loved her, one to tell her my sorrow and my confusion, one to tell her what she had meant to me. What she still did mean to me.
Departing, hiding my tears until I knew she would not hear them, see them. I did not wish to hurt her, even now. Even now I loved her. Even now, I would run, for her.

Three years had passed, yet still those words sinuously slithered through his mind, clutching at his heart and tearing at his soul. He pondered daily where she was now, what she had done, who she had become. He sought to end the thoughts, to abandon those memories of her, and yet cast them aside he could not; he was bound to them, addicted to the memory of her touch and her scent, and his love, not yet having died with time, remained a weeping and raw wound.

This was why, each night, he could be found walking through the trees, a pale and ghostly spirit pacing the woods near his lonely homestead with naught for company but the whispering wind, the crunch of his boots on crackling twigs, and the piercing remembrances of night secreted away with an abused girl, a girl he had cradled for hours as she wept and cried out for relief and reprieve. Tonight, however, there was a tint in the air that defied that loneliness. Tonight, he dared to return for the first time.

Tonight, he visited the lake. Tonight, he said goodbye to those memories. Tonight, he showed himself and the world that he could progress and move on. He could make good speed, with little foliage to obstruct his path, the tall and dark and ancient trees of the forest obscuring sunlight, blocking that which was so vital to life and vibrancy in the natural world. Perhaps, that same light was necessary for life and love, as well. It had been a moonless night, he still recalled, the only light being cast from the stars, pinpricks, diamonds beckoning him.

He was being called towards it, this night. And so, he obeyed.

[Taaja Hart]

There was a scent on the breath of the wind. A human scent.

It hadn’t taken long for Taaja to realize the differences that separated one type of scent from another. Some were distinct, like the difference between walking on a bed of grass and walking on a dirt road. Such was the difference between human blood and animal blood. Humans… the scent drew her like a hummingbird to nectar, the throat of a delicate flower, the throat with pulsing blood beneath, veins that supplied the throbbing heart. Sustenance. Life after death.

Hungering.

Taaja slowly rose to her feet, pain utterly forgotten. It really hadn’t been all that long since she’d fed. Not long at all, in fact. Memories of her last kill were bloody. She’d come across- or rather, hunted down- a single, middle-aged man hermiting in a cabin in the woods several hundred miles north. The man had been practically blind, been more than willing to take her in, speak to her, more than willing to take and administer affection. What he hadn’t been willing to do, however, was submit to a feeding. Intimacy often drastically increased one’s appetite, and it was no different for Taaja’s kind. The man had fought back valiantly. It had been his downfall. Even with a few sips of his blood, Taaja was just as strong as he was, with superior instinct and agility. Her body was slim and petite, but whipcord strong. She knew it well. It was a highly trained weapon.

Now standing straight against the tree, she could nearly taste the human’s scent on the wind. What was a human doing out so late, so alone on a night like this? Ignoring the condensation that wet her skin, Taaja melted into the shadows. The darkness offered protection and speed. A being such as her could travel through shadow much more easily than through any kind of illumination. It was speed and safety, unique to the creatures of the night, of the dark. She took another deep inhale.

Perhaps just a hunt was in order. A little intimidation, encouragement to stay out of the woods at night, present a challenge, a tipping of the natural order of nature.

Taaja crouched low to the ground, brilliant green eyes piercing the dark of the forest as she anticipated that the human would probably pass right by the birch tree in a matter of minutes. She kept well out of sight in the shadows.

[HaloAssault]

The night passed in a blur for him, miles melting away beneath his sore, exhausted feet. Caught up in the memories of the past, he paid too little attention to his footing, the forest floor carpeted and strangulated with long-fallen pine needles, decaying leaves, and those diseased plants that require no sunlight to thrive - moss and fungi, weeds too black for blessed sun to dare kiss - falling many a time, bloodying hands and knees with cuts and scrapes. He cared not.

Still, still, relentlessly, he was tormented by those cruel thoughts, those sickening memories.
I had walked to meet her. A year. A year I had not gazed upon her face, and now, she left a note for me. Asking, asking for me to meet her one more time, once more as we had as children, as friends, as confidants, and as lovers. I had wanted to see her again. I had prayed that it would be a return to our nightly escapades.
Seeing her. Our eyes meeting, me shuddering uncontrollably, all the feelings of abandonment, of being left behind, of doubting her feelings for me, swept away with just a glimpse of those fantastic, stunning green eyes.
I ran to her, forgetting myself, forgetting everything. Naught existed but her, her smell, her vulnerable body against mine as I swept her into my arms, crushing her, forcing words through the inexplicably wonderful lump in my throat.
“Oh, God! Oh, God! Oh, Taaja, I thought I’d… Oh God…”
I thought I had lost her. I thought I had lost her. And now, here she was. Tears fought to be let free, and it was with difficulty, with the resolve I had previously reserved for forgetting her, that I pushed them back. She had been so strong all the years I had spent with her, trying to comfort her. I took strength from that, knowing that I should try match her courage, her bravery, her determination. God, I loved that about her, how could I have almost forgotten...
“You came..."
Her voice, caressing my ears, drawing me in to thoughts of those nights we spent together, so sweet. I would never have left her waiting here alone. Her fingers, along my jawline, bringing goosebumps to my flesh, her touch intoxicating. Her hand, so cold, so very cold. She was here, she was real...
She had come back for me.
She was wet. She had been swimming? In the lake? Was she crazy? Concern overcame me. I cared not for myself, for my longing to touch my lips to hers, to hold her hand. She protested the need for a fire. Stoic to the point of stubbornness, as always. I had missed that. I had missed that so desperately.
“But it’s you that I’m worried about."
I spoke the truth. I needed her, and I needed to make her happy. Despite my own pain, she needed to be happy, I needed her to be happy. She had suffered so much, so very much, so little I had been able to do to help. Anguish had spread through me each time she cried, each time a new bruise showed, and I could do naught, a peasant as I was. She had been incredible. I admired her. Trusted her. Loved her. She was everything to me....
Everything.

He tripped again, a cry ripping from his lips as he fell. He lay still for a minute, lacking the will to move, to continue, to fight on. How he wished to just give up, to return home. The lake would bring nothing but pain. Agony, sheer agony, radiated through his chest, fire burning through him at the memories of her. His heart ached, pounded, beat with a frenzied fury as he recalled. He questioned, he wondered, why she had had to leave, why she had been unable to confide in him. What could have been so terrible, for her to tell him to run away from the town he had always lived in, away from all he knew, and yet refuse to explain? He had done it. He had done it for her. His devotion had known no end.

He picked himself up. He had to leave the memories behind. He had to move on. Taaja was not coming back this time. She was not coming back for him. She did not love him, she did not need him, she did not value his love, nor did she want it.

He plodded on, the trees massive and disturbingly cruel-seeming around him, passing from a grove of pines into a small collection of birch trees.

[Taaja Hart]

Taaja was one with the shadows. Like an animal lurking in the dark, waiting unseen to oblivious prey.

She didn’t need to kill this time. No, just a little taste, just a sip would suffice nicely. And what was this? Her prey approached, along with the strong scents of already open wounds, small ones, but the coppery scent of blood was evident. Her ears picked up the slight uttering of a cry, harried breath as the human struggled on. Signs of struggle? A runaway? Perhaps a bandit? Being chased, perhaps? No. There were no followers; Taaja’s senses could pick up that much. But the odd sensation of curiosity cut through the cold cloud of instinct, and she paused. She could, of course, flit through the shadows behind the human and disable them in a heartbeat, no problem at all. Leave them alone and weak in the woods, unconscious, but still able to regain their senses and stagger back to wherever they’d come from, totally unaware that they’d been taken advantage of when they’d been senseless.

But curiosity pierced the emotionless predatory fog and kept Taaja still. The human approached. She didn’t need to look at him to know where he was, or to know that he was male. The gait and the timbre of the ragged breaths he took were discernable enough. Taaja slipped through the shadows and cut around behind the man, beginning to melt from tree to tree behind him, stalking him. She was still determined to take him as prey, but was content to simply follow him for a time, to see where he was headed, if he carried any valuables, and how badly he might be injured.

Spoilt blood was unwanted blood.

She tripped up her prowl. Stifled a curse.
Leaves rustled in her wake as she quickly flitted to the cover of deeper shadows behind a tree, frozen. The element of surprise was her strongest suit. The human might have heard the rustle of leaves, might get nervous, flee, alert for help, or even worse, try to seek her out. She kept utterly still behind the tree, fangs extended just behind her lips. She ran her tongue over the sharp edges, testing them. If this human saw her, she would kill him, whether she wanted to or not.

[HaloAssault]

The wood around him seemed to play tricks as he tripped on snarled, clutching claws of choking weeds and twisted roots, whispering haunting promises and subtle threats in his weary ears. Around every corner, in every tall tree, hidden in every shadowed grove, was a predator waiting to chase him, catch him, eviscerate him with a cold and disturbingly natural ease. His fatigue meant he was less aware than usual, the oft-twitchy and paranoid demeanour he tended to adopt in the forest abandoned, yet he was not a blind beggar, nor a foolish and airy jester.

Eyes seemed to watch him as he gasped for breath, the weighted pain of his thoughts compressing his chest and constricting his windpipe to a mere straw. An ache spread through his chest as Taaja ran through his mind: her small, slender, cold body curled up against his on freezing winter nights; her hand clutching his desperately, impulsively; her arms clinging to him as she convulsively sobbed her pain away; her soft and tender lips on his, barely brushing against his own, vulnerable and scared and yet urgently wanting to share intimacy with him, on the few occasions they had felt it necessary to show their love physically with a chaste kiss. The thought of such moments caused fire in his belly and heart, radiating out of him in scorching waves to burn him from the inside. He gasped with the potency of the feelings that plagued him still, fighting back tears with powerful, fierce swallowing. He would not cry alone in the forest.

Still, that sensation of being watched, as he recovered and recuperated from the wave of anguish that had swept through him. Still, he felt the gaze of fate fall upon him, and he knew that tonight was the night to visit the lake. Tonight was the night to end his torment, his agony. Onwards he marched, snarling almost through the pain that permeated his body and his mind and his heart.

Rustling, behind him. Was that the wind? No, no, he quickly reasoned: The misty, almost wispy fog surrounding him meant there could be not so much as a breeze. He spun, clumsily, catching a tree root with his foot and almost falling on top of a patch of vile-looking, rotting fungi. Crouching slightly, shifting his centre of gravity low, he scanned the deepening shadows he now realised surrounded the small grove of birch trees he was currently stumbling through.



Fear slowly grew in him, rising in a sickening crescendo. Sweat slicked his palms, a lump rising in his throat. His heart beat faster, as if acknowledging the approaching doom by beating out as much of his life as it could manage before he was torn apart, and he trembled. His muscles shook and his mind fogged with panic, inexplicably, for he could see nothing out of place…and yet he could not halt that shaking, that shivering, palms and armpits and forehead beading with sweat and heart beating faster and faster, a ringing growing in his ears and a terrible uncertainty and hopelessness holding him in place, unable to so much as twitch.

Then, just as suddenly, that sporadic, erratic, unexplainable fear passed over him, its flesh-creeping shadow slipping from him in an instant and leaving him feeling as he had before he heard the sound. Dazed, he stood, confused. He had thought he had caught a glimpse of something out of the corner of his eye, but on closer inspection, there was nothing there; that was the only explanation for his fit of terror. Shaking his head at his own foolishness, his apprehension already forgotten, he turned, and continued his harrowing journey, determined to end this permanent pain in his chest once and for all.

__________________________________________________ ___

(Taaja Hart's Post)

Taaja held her breath. The human had heard her, of that much she was sure. But he'd likely assumed it was so e kind I forest animal, scuttling about for food or shelter. Her lips suddenly curled into a wry, sour, frown. She was behaving in exactly that manner. But she was no forest rodent, nibbling on berries and lived in fear of larger creatures, wild or otherwise. She'd taken down fully grown men with ease, done away with wild beasts that had threatened her or a fresh kill.

She'd killed beings that had been thought to be immortal.

So why was she hiding from this young man? She was a creature of the night, a creature of prey, who hunted a d drained and killed. If she'd made the decision to be who she was, she'd better behave like it, rather than jump and skulk about behind trees.

She slipped out of the shadows, muscles coiled and tense, ready to spring at the slightest hint of fight or flight from this strange, jumpy creature she stalked. She moved soundlessly toward him, eyes locked on him in a completely objective manner; she was the hunter and he was the prey. The pulse of thirst burned up from her lungs and into her throat and mouth, razor fangs pressing against the inside of her upper lip, hunger and desire coupling into a lethal combination on violence and seduction.

Just a sip, she told herself, in the final moments of lucidity before she pounced. No killing this time. Just a sip.

She sprang, crashing into the man from behind with the intent of pinning him to the forest floor, flipping him to face her, and drinking her fill.

__________________________________________________ ___


Each step seemed endless, his footsteps resounding too loudly, with too long between each muffled thump, time dragging and seemingly reducing the speed of his limbs to that of a geriatric. Head pounding, heart pounding, feet pounding the ground, adrenaline shot through him inexplicably, perhaps some sixth sense warning him of the coming danger. In this place, he was prey, he was weak, and the senses of prey are always heightened to keep them alert. How else may they survive the brutality of nature?

The impact was massive, the strength present inconceivable for the size and weight of the creature crashing into the back of him, claws or hands or talons digging into his flesh, propelling him forwards into the ground. His face and chest scraped on the rough surface of stone-spotted dirt, the creature pressing him down, his mouth filled with blood and soil and shredded plant matter. He felt something in his back crack, cried out, pain blossoming in heated waves from the injury. Desperately, he bucked, grimacing through the pain, trying to throw the creature over his head and off his spine, but to no avail - he had not miscalculated the strength of the animal in the moment it hit him; it held him in place with little real effort, weak as he was. He shouted out once more, struggling, sure he was soon to feel teeth sink into his neck or his head or his back, sharp shards slicing through his skin and grinding on his bones.

With that same ferocity, with that same strength, he heard a snarl as the world pitched and he was turned, flipped with unnerving ease, onto his back to stare up at the feral creature above him. It wanted to see the light die in his eyes, his panic evident in his expression as he died; the thought was ludicrous, no animal thought such a way, and yet it crossed his thoughts nevertheless. He was startled by the leanness of the creatures muscles, how light it was as it straddled him, pinning him to the ground, the bizarre smoothness and softness of its...

Its skin? What predator had skin, almost human-like skin?

He spat a globule of blood at the creature, still trying in vain to fight free, bucking his hips and straining with his arms to break away of the iron grip that had them flattened to the forest floor. His mouth was not as bloody as he had thought, luckily. He would still be able to curse the thing as it gnawed on him. Despite his planned bravado, however, fear was still his predominant emotion, clouding his thoughts, sending more and more adrenaline shooting through his veins. He did not want to die, not tonight, on the night he should finally have reclaimed his life.

Fate was cruel.

The creature was above him now, having firmly restrained him. He could see only its silhouette in the darkness, but he was stunned once more by how small and slender it seemed, despite the whipcord-strong, lean muscles in the arms and legs holding him. He braced himself for death, sure his last thought would be that incredulity.

[Taaja Hart]

The fight itself was like a dance.

Really, though, it wasn't much of a fight at all, more of a struggle than anything. Though, Taaja had to admit that this strange person had put up more of a fight than she'd expected. But she'd won. The swell of triumph flooded through her as she hovered over her overtaken prey, anticipation of the feed beginning to overwhelm her other sense. She allowed herself a faint snicker of victory before tightening her grip further and lowering her lips to the flesh of the man's neck.

His scent flooded her nostrils, and she froze there, releasing a sudden breath on his skin.

That scent.

It...

But it couldn't...

That memory...

It was...

No.

Taaja abruptly pulled back from her prey, scrambling back clumsily until she was off him, skidding through the dried leaves in an attempt to get away from him. She managed to flash back behind the trunk of a tree, pressing herself against the rough bark, eyes wide, in shock. She didn't dare emerge, didn't dare to step into his line of vision. Surely he'd already seen her. Recognised her. If he remembered her at all. Or perhaps the light was not enough to see her by. She sincerely hoped this was the case for him. For him... Him...

Henry.

Suddenly she was absolutely certain that the man she'd attacked had been him.

And the thought filled her with fear.

[HaloAssault]

He lay still, defeated, only absent-mindedly pondering the odd nature of the creature. Fear tempered his curiosity and wonder. It snickered. Snickered. How could it snicker? How could an animal even think to take pride and amusement from its prey? It wore clothing. Beige trousers, a dark blouse. He caught sight, briefly, of soft shoes, perfect for silent movement through the still night around them. He still could not see its face.

Potent fear stems from the unknown, and he had never encountered anything like this.

A wave of terror passed through him, energy flooding his limbs again as he began to struggle once more, the will to survive roaring in his ears. But he was too weak. The creature held him in place effortlessly. It had won. The creature bent towards him, the head and face he could not see previously coming into sight, its lips brushing his neck for a second.

He stiffened as he saw it, muscles locking, rigid, his entire body immediately hard and tense.

It couldn't...

It couldn't be...

He was hallucinating. He was hallucinating. His mind had succumbed to the exhaustion that plagued him after his long, lonely trek, and to the sinister whisperings of the forest that had so inspired fear in him before. He was crazy. Insane. He had lost it. Surely?

The creature let out a breath against his neck, frozen inches from him. A shaky breath escaped his own lips. He hadn't even realised he was holding his breath.

It scrambled back from him, suddenly, so suddenly and so quickly that it kicked him several times in its urgency to escape. With comparison to its earlier grace, it was stumbling and clumsy. Still on the ground, not having processed his chance for freedom yet, he thought he heard it scramble to its feet, dead and dry leaves crackling beneath it as it fled.

He must have been wrong. Must have been mistaken, in delirium. His emotional anguish must have influenced his sight. That must be it. That had to be. That was the only explanation.

Had that weight, those lips, that body, that...those beautiful features, had they not seemed familiar, though? It had been too familiar, too many things had been recognisable, for him be wrong. It was madness, however, to...

To think it was her.

His heart thudded, more heavily and with more speed now than even during the attack. Her. It couldn't have been her. The thought terrified him. Now, of all times...

He span, telling himself he was wrong, so wrong, sprinting towards the lakeside, paying no heed to the danger of turning his back on the creature. No.

No.

It couldn't be her.

It couldn't be Taaja.

He ran.

[Taaja Hart]

Running.

Henry was running!

It was Henry, wasn't it? His scent- Oh god, his scent, was one that she couldn’t forget, even though the last time she’d smelled it had been years before, just for those few brief moments by the lake…

The lake. The lake was nearby. Was that where he’d been headed? And even now was heading? Taaja kept her back pressed against the rough bark, eyes wide as she realized the close proximity of the lake. Why should he head there, after all these years that had passed? Some kind of ritual he did to stave off the memory of her absence? Surely he’d married by now- Taaja had seen the looks the other girls in the village had given Henry when they were young. Surely he’d since found himself a worthy bride. So why would he creep back to the lake where their last meeting had been in the middle of the night, shaking and stumbling and staggering as he was? For that matter, what was she doing so close to the goddamned lake!? It wasn’t for her own sake, she reminded herself firmly. It wasn’t for Henry. It was for her brother, Damien! It was for his sake that she’d dared to come so close again, and not for anyone else. Not for her mother, not for her father, not for herself. Not for Henry.

Fate was a cruel thing, to think that it could throw Henry back into her life like this. Cruel.

She followed him, skirting behind trees, just barely keeping him in her line of vision. He was almost nothing like she remembered, but yes, she was sure now that it was him. So why follow?

He’d seen her. He’d seen her and something had to be done. Otherwise rumors would fly, if he said anything about her mysteriously turning up.

Henry would have to be silenced.

[HaloAssault]

His breath came in ragged, tearing gasps as he took flight through the looming trees on either side of him, trunks blackened and thin branches rendered invisible by the pervading gloom of the night. It couldn't have been her. It simply wasn't possible, and he repeated that notion to himself even as he ran headlong through stinging, whipping branches catching his arms and his face, fleeing desperately from the very thought of her presence.

It hadn't been her. He knew it hadn't. It was impossible. Impossible.

Where did she gain such abnormal strength?

Why did she attack me?

Questions ran through his mind, defying his attempts to convince himself of the implausibility of their origin; that Taaja was back. That Taaja was back, after three long years. Mentally and physically, he strove to distance himself from even the concept of her return. She couldn't have. He was delusional, to have seen her in that feral creature. Hallucinating, exhausted.

Tonight was supposed to be the night he said goodbye.

"Henry, why do you prolong this? Why do you persist in rejecting everyone who approaches you?"
The words of my mother. Making sense. Logical. Caring, even. She thought it would make me happy to try and find a spouse. Try and find someone else to love. She didn't know why I refused, why I avoided romance with any woman approaching me. She didn't know I had already been in love once, and lost that love to fate. She couldn't.
Nobody had known about us. My secrecy was my bane now, where it had been our saviour before.
Scorn. Much scorn. From all those around me who didn't understand. Mocking me from my abstinence from romantic encounters. I lost a lot of friends. I didn't make any new ones either.
I was alone.
I was alone, abandoned, and in pain. And like an injured animal, I withdrew from those around me to lick my wounds in peace.
Alone.

Not much farther until the lakeside. Why he aimed for the lake, he had no idea. How could he abandon the thought of her as he had almost wished to, having seen her?

He couldn't lose her again.

And so he refused to accept she was back again at all, even though his heart told him. His heart told him what his head thought impossible.

That creature is Taaja.

She's back.

...No!

But he denied it.

And he carried on running.