𝐒𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐑𝐎𝐖 | 𝟏𝟖+

xii. your name, sparrow?

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‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ 𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐑𝐎𝐖 𝐂𝐎𝐋𝐋𝐀𝐏𝐒𝐄𝐒 𝐎𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐎𝐔𝐓𝐒𝐊𝐈𝐑𝐓𝐒 𝐎𝐅 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐘𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐍 𝐑𝐎𝐘𝐀𝐋 𝐂𝐈𝐓𝐘 𝐖𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐒, dropping Elowen to the soil as he paws at his bloodied shirt. He scratches at the spear wound, the gaping hole crusted with dry blood, partially scabbed.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎He should be dead.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎By now, afternoon passes into night. The moon shines in full glow, dancing over their anatomies. Elowen rushes to Morrow's side, cupping his cheeks within her palms, but not before scratching behind his ears. A timbre growl of delight emanates from his chest, and for a second, there's solace amidst his nightmare of a shift. His body remains a contortion of hunched limbs, half-wolf, half-man.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎She furrows her brows. "How the hell are you still alive?"

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Morrow reveals his canines. "Don't..."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"They just put an iron spear through your heart! How... just how?"

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Morrow loves his pack more than anything in this world, but Elowen recognizes that it's not the pack in its entirety that led to this particular shift. Elowen is the catalyst. She was the reason he shifted the time prior, and now this? The sight of his fated mate captured and touched by the terran high lord became the fire Morrow's wolf needed to breach the surface, for him to release his true form.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Guilt pools within her, drowning her mind in a million sorrows. All of this because of her, all because of her wings.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"Gods," she sobs, unable to find the correct words. "I'm... I'm... I'm sorry."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Her creature must mimic her unsettled emotions, because Morrow repositions himself so he reclaims dominance. He lays her upon the earth, white wings tainted with mixtures of dirt and blood. Morrow crawls above her on all fours, his black eyes warmer than the deadliness that once possessed them.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"I'm sorry," Elowen breathes once more, lifting her hand to the spear wound beneath his torn shirt. "Morrow, I'm—"

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎His body snaps again, a howl of torment slicing through the silence of the night. Her presence might hinder the conversion, but it's not the cure he needs to end it before his wolf goes rogue.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎When he manages to settle, Morrow keeps himself close, sheltering them as he spreads his wings. Hot erratic breaths fan against her cheeks, a desperate pant as he attempts to grapple with each agonising spasm.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"Sparrow..." he manages to groan.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Elowen studies those black wolf eyes, finding a sliver of meadow green emanating from around his pupils. How can she tame him? What does his wolf so desperately desire from her that could satisfy its demands?