The Ghost wolf's Bride

Theme: Sacrifice and First Impressions The atmosphere of the hut of the mosswood healer was warm, and smelled of herbs and honey. Finn was a young boy who bit his lip, in a bid to stop crying over his arm which had been badly broken. "Shhh, Finn. Look at me, Threnody, so soft as a summer breeze. Her hands were close to his arm which was swollen. "You might feel a little warm." Her hands began glowing like gold. Mom stared at Finn, which had eyes full of hope and fear. You are very courageous, Threnody said with a smile. But her smile narrowed as the bone she was holding began to make laces. The jabbing pains of her arm were sharp. Suddenly she was not in the hut any longer. She was in the dizziness of going down a tall oak, and rocketing earth upwards, and the pure, sharp fear of Finn. She made a slow and shaky breath drawing the pain and the memory into herself. After a bit, the glow faded. Finn’s arm was straight again. He fidgeted his fingers, and his face came into a broad smile. "It doesn't hurt anymore! Thank you, Threnody!" Threnody smiled at himself, wearily. She was whitish now, and the fingers shook a little as she drew them back. Be more careful on those branches, little wolf, be more careful, said his mother. When Finn jumped down the table his mom came to embrace him. Thanks, thanks, she said to Threnody, and she was grateful. She didn't see the cost. No one ever did. Threnody was later in the family room of her dad. It was a large room made out of dull, shiny wood. Alpha Bram was standing behind her with his back to the window and looking down the green packlands that were flourishing. You will go away to Ashvale by daylight, said he. His tone was monotonous, and reverberating in the silent room. The heart of Threnody seemed to her as a stone. Father, please, she said, just as you can hardly hear me. The Ashvale pack... they are not like we are. They’re brutal. their Alpha, Sorin,... they call him the Ghost Wolf. They declare that he is heartless and that he has murdered his own uncle to be Alpha. Bram finally turned. His face, which was warm to her, was granite hard. "I don’t listen to rumors. I hearken to what preserves our pack. That union alone will save us out of the actual danger which is swirling up to the north. "But to marry him? A man I’ve never met? A man known for his cruelty?" Threnody came forward and pleaded. Your marriage will bind the peace," said Bram, leaving no mistaking the tone on which his words were based. It will put an end to generation after generation of war among our packs. Threnody, which is thy docket to Mosswood. Not to your comfort.' He went to his desk, and took a scroll which was sealed. "This is the agreement. You’re the promise. Don’t forget that." Tears were crowding up in the eyes of Threnody, but she would not allow them to drop. She looked at the man who brought her up, trained her to be good, and a cold political strategist. "So, am I just a bargaining chip?" She looked directly at Bram, and she was sure that there was a moment when the pain was flashing in his eyes. But it was gone as soon as it came. You are my daughter, he said, low-pitched. "And that’s why you must do this." Going to Ashvale was like going to a different world. The green fertile forests of Mosswood led to the jagged gray mountains and the sharp dark pine trees. It became cold and thin, and stinging at the skin of Threnody. Sorin had made his fortress not a house, but a sword, an ugly building of black marble hewn out of the mountain. It frowned upon all things, aloof and unfriendly. Within the great hall there was a fire in a huge fireplace that was of no use to make the hall any warmer. And there he stood. The story was shorter than Alpha Sorin himself. His hair was black ash; his eyes... light, as chips of ice. They possessed neither warmth, nor curiosity. He even did not look at her when she entered. His eyes were strained toward a distance. Flanking him were two men. One is an older, stern yet calm man--his uncle, Vance. The other one, the young, muscular, scowling, but apparently always scowling, Kael, the Beta. Kael had broken the silence, which was a low grumbling voice. "She’s smaller than I expected." Sorin had a silver pair of eyes which finally turned towards her. And like a shampoo, they slipped up and down her head, and down her feet, and up her head. So this was Mosswood healer, he said. He was low-pitched and gravelly rumbling. He did not make a question; he made a statement. And his following words caused her blood to freeze. "She looks breakable." The ceremony happened that same night, under a cold sliver of a moon. There were no flowers, no music. The pack of Ashvale stood in silent, grim rows, their faces unreadable. A shaman recited the ancient words of alliance, his voice a dry monotone. Threnody stood beside Sorin, feeling the chill radiating from his body. She wore a simple gray dress, feeling more like a prisoner being sentenced than a bride. The shaman reached the final part of the ritual. “And now, to bind this alliance in spirit as it is on paper, the couple will join hands and acknowledge their bond beneath the gaze of the moon.” The shaman nodded to them. This was the mate-binding ritual. A small, foolish part of Threnody’s heart hoped for a little kindness. Sorin held out his hand. Hesitantly, she placed her own in his. His palm was calloused and cold. The moment their skin touched, a tiny, shocking spark of warmth shot up her arm. It was so brief she thought she imagined it. But Sorin’s eyes widened for a fraction of a second. He had felt it too. Then, his face hardened into a mask of pure disgust. He dropped her hand as if her touch had burned him. He turned to face the watching pack, his voice cutting through the air like a whip. “Let no one be mistaken,” he announced, loud and clear. “This is a political arrangement. Nothing more. A piece of paper. She is not my mate.” He finally looked directly at Threnody, his silver eyes completely empty. “Do not address her as such.” Without another word, he turned and walked away, his footsteps echoing in the dead silence. He left her standing there alone, in the center of a sea of hostile faces. The spark of warmth was gone, replaced by a deep, aching cold. She was utterly and completely alone. But as she stood there, drowning in shame, a single, chilling thought echoed in her mind. When he touched my hand… What was that spark? And why did he look so afraid of it?