Move

Ever since she was a child, Diana had vivid dreams. Some were nonsensical, fueled by anxiety or too much sugar before bed, or at least that's what she told herself. Yet lately, they had felt so much more real and complex, perhaps because of her supposed mate. She would never admit that she felt comfortable in Tristan's arms, that she enjoyed how warm he was and it made her want to never leave. The rage she felt last night was all consuming, both at him and for him. That wolf had dared to try and take her against her will and her magic overflowed.

It was like she had been trapped in a box with no air, she had felt the room slowly lose all it's oxygen and she had adapted to life without it, only for a window to fling open and she had never realized just how much it filled her. Her magic was basic at best, she had no knowledge of complex spells, only basic potions yet through sheer will, she had done so much more. Had she always been able to bend the world to her will and just had no knowledge of it? Her grandfather had certainly never even so much as alluded to it, he simply taught her to heal, to protect. Yet protecting the pack last night had been violent, raw, nothing like the magic she had grown up with. She hadn't transferred a wound larger than a papercut before and didn't realize how much it would sting. But the girl had tried to protect her, Diana owed her a back without scars, at the very least.

So perhaps that was why she dreamed of wolves last night, of the full moon and the howling to it. She dreamed of the most beautiful woman she had ever seen, weeping into a pit and turning it into a lake, of women being baptized and arising with as much power as she felt last night, glowing with a blinding light. Wolves stood guard at the bank, protecting the newly made witches, sharing their power with them.

It was ethereal, the glow they emitted. Diana didn't even realize that she had walked towards them until a woman grinned at her, they had the same smile, "Ash Witch." She greeted, causing all the wolves to turn to her, "Remnant of Selene, the Crescent Witch." Diana opened her mouth to speak but there were no words she could say. The title she had addressed her with felt waited with authority, although for what reason, she knew not.

The beautiful woman, no, the Goddess, turned to her then, plucking a strand of hair from her head and placing it in Diana's palm before taking the other half and placing it on the snout of a tawny wolf. Like a spider web, it shot out, connecting her to all the wolves present and she felt the power flowing.

"You were not destined for a coven, my dear." Her words make Diana want to weep, she was in denial about a lot of things, her ache for a coven being one of them, "But a pack will never leave their Luna behind, not when she is one of them." The wolves howled in unison, startling her awake.

Tristan's grip was tight around her, where it was once comforting quickly twisted into entrapment. No, she assured herself, no matter what the pulling in her heart was, she was not meant to be a part of anything, not a pack, not a coven, nothing. Diana slipped out of the bed and quickly dressed, the sun was not even up yet and she slipped out of the pack house in the cover of darkness.

Guilt pulled her to the infirmary, where a few wounded wolves lay, still resting. She could hear two nurses chatting in the other room and with a flick of her wrist, silenced her steps. The feeling of her magic weighed on her, the power heavy in her chest, why was it so much stronger than before? The question haunted her as she made her way from bed to bed, wishing she had herbs to channel with, it was much more tiring to do direct healing magic. It was why she had taken the wounds of Luca's sister into her own body, healing herself was easier, she had more practice. Her fingers grazed over wounds, knitting flesh back together, soothing the pain of lesser marks. She focused on healing the worst off, lest she exhaust herself, a long day lay ahead of her and eventually just breathed a sigh as her magic pulsed out around her in case there was anyone she had missed.

When she was content that the injured were going to be fine, she focused on the wind, letting it guide her home. Diana walked on foot, content to let the morning wake around her. She had walked a good mile before a wolf appeared in her way, attempting to stop her. She bared her teeth, surprising even herself at such a primal display.

"Move." She said simply, "I'm leaving." The wolf growled, not so much as a threat but as a warning for her to stay there, no doubt mindlinking Tristan to tell him where she was. Had he noticed she was missing? She hadn't realized she hoped he would come looking for her until that moment and she was angry at herself. Was this what Stockholm syndrome felt like? Missing the man who had locked her in a room and sealed her magic away? Missing how he held her, how his scent was a balm to her wounded spirit?

Diana frowned at the sound of more wolves on her way and without thinking, she repeated herself, "Move." It was instinctual but the tone carried further, echoing through the trees and the once might wolf now looked like a pup, baring his neck in submission and whimpering, taking a few steps back. She refused to think about what she had just done, she simply ran.