Chapter Twelve
Dax's POV
The moon was too big, too close - but I kept running anyway. Leaves and twigs crunched under my paws as I sprinted through the forest. My forest. I knew these trails. I owned these woods.
Wind rushed through my fur as the trees streaked past me. Every move was instinct. I jumped and dodged, dipped and leapt.
This was peace. This was power.
Here, I was untouchable. Nothing could reach me as I ran. Not rogues, not politics, not even my pack.
The ground underfoot turned soft as powdered snow stretched around me. Each muffled crunch was swallowed by the vast, frozen quiet.
I wasn't alone anymore. There was a figure ahead.
My legs pumped harder, paws sinking into the deep snow banks but no matter how hard I pushed, this human was faster.
Pale hair spilled over a heavy cloak - a glimmer of silver against an endless sea of white. I knew who it was - even from a distance, even without seeing her face.
I wanted to stop, to turn around, to return to my forest but I couldn't.
Kiera.
The name pulled me forward but the distance between us didn't fade.
The path had been so clear before me, the woods known and familiar. I wanted to return, to go back to the place I knew.
That was control. That was safety.
But my feet betrayed me. The fire was stoked inside, threatening to burn me up if I didn't reach her icy gaze.
The snow hardened beneath me. Ice, slick and slippery. My claws dug in, keeping me steady as I reached for her.
A crack echoed through the vast expanse of ice. It splintered and spidered beneath me. Each step fractured and shifted the ground beneath.
I tried to call out but the howl was silent.
She drifted further - her movements effortless as she glided across the frozen field.
Distorted wolves danced at the edges of my vision, their inky bodies coiled in patient circles.
These monsters - snow shadows. They prowled in the cold - always hidden, always just out of reach until they pounced.
But these didn't.
They skulked in the sidelines. Their pointed teeth stretched into gruesome smiles. They were watching - waiting for me to falter.
I couldn't falter. Not here. Not when she was so close.
Crisp air, fir, fresh snow.
The scent captivated me. I was helpless against its draw.
I needed more.
But the monsters paced, following her - following me.
Each shattering snap of ice beneath my paws drew them closer. The darkness surged, overcoming the snow until all I could see was her - a silvery light at the end of a hopeless tunnel.
If I was just faster. If I was just stronger. I could catch her. We would return to the forest. To my forest. Everything was safe there.
I wanted them to attack, to break free from the invisible chains that held them. Then maybe I could fight back instead of waiting. The fear thrummed in my veins, the anticipation a beating drum in my ears thudding faster and faster as my lungs burned for more air.
And then she stopped.
My feet surged forward, finally moving me close enough that the snowy fir overtook all my senses. She stood in the snow, her silvery hair still even as the wind nipped at my fur.
But the blood made me stumble.
It leached into the snow, horrific tendrils pouring from where she stood. Her icy blue eyes held no fear, no panic. She looked tired, calm, like she'd been waiting for me to finally catch her.
I reached out, my hand extending where paws should have been. If I could just touch her, hold her, know that she was real.
That familiar burning heat scalded my fingers, like that moment when you've become so cold that everything seems to scream with fire.
My fingers brushed her shoulder and her eyes met mine. Then everything melted.
She crumbled before me. Chunks of blood red snow chipping and collapsing. Her face caved in, and the blood-red snow poured through my fingers, melting faster the harder I grasped.
My knees hit the tainted snow beneath me. The air charred my lungs, each breath too cold to keep. I pulled at the bloody snow but every pile melted beneath my touch.
I tore awake with a gasp, the sheets twisted and damp under my fists. The lamp nearly fell to the floor as I scrambled for light. But the damp seeping through my shirt was just sweat - not blood.
The dream clung like frost to my skin, sharp and aching.
Kiera. Blood. Snow. A path I couldn't find my way back to.
I shoved out of bed, every movement rough and too loud in the quiet room.
It was just a dream. It meant nothing.
Still, when I laced my boots, the knots bit into my skin — too tight, too hard.
I didn't loosen them.
No matter how tightly I tied them, something inside me was already coming undone.
Another Dax POV? What?
Dreams are always so interesting to write. So much imagery and symbolism.
What do you think it means?