Relinquishing Control

The woods were still, silent, but one thing disturbed that silence, that peace. Far off, across lands I’d never explored, scents whirled and anxiety flitted through the trees. My nose had always been keen, better than the rest, much like the rest of my senses but the stench that emitted from those far west regions made me wrinkle my nose in distaste, made the hair on the back of my neck stand on end. I train my eyes to the forest off to my left, facing the west, my nose tilted into the air as I flare my nostrils inhaling sharply and deeply. Seven. I could smell them, each totally separate, not a mating mixture or familial mixture among the bunch. Six. Six smelled of rotten pigs flesh, decaying and infested. One. One smelled of fresh roses, such a gentle scent, such a young scent. Nothing lingered around it. Clung to it. I’d found, as I’d gotten older and those around me had gotten older, that smells manifested. Scents were more than an identifying feature of someone

I stand stock still as the wolves circle us, the girl beside me giving them a half witted, anxious smile. From the direction they’d all came, I see a figure walking. He was tall and broad, I hardly looked down for my eyes to meet his, my neck didn’t need to crane at all. He stood with his legs slightly spread, level with his shoulders, and his hands clasped behind his back. His eyes were a hard golden brown, glancing between the two of us. “Harper,” he warns, eyeing the young girl closely. “I’m sorry Beta Lucas,” she said, looking down and twiddling with her fingers. “Ivan, see Ms. Lowen back to her house, please,” the Beta ordered, gesturing to a smaller, thinner male with eyes as sharp and quick as an arrow. “Yes, Beta. Harper, come,” Ivan bows before gesturing to the young Harper and turning to leave. She smiles apologetically at me as she follows after him. Sighing, I pull my eyes from her, knowing that she was safe, before looking back to the broad, hard eyed

Sweat made it’s was in a slick line down my face, some drops catching on my eyebrows and lashes, others making their way down my nose or over my cheeks. My arms, stretched out to my sides, were strained from holding my body up and the ropes holding them dug into my wrist and made indents there. The pole that I was tied to was tall but they hadn’t tied me where I could stand. Instead, my back arched, sending my chest forward, and my feet sprawled in front of me, my heels pressed into the soft ground. The position was the least bit comfortable and five long days had since passed since I’d stood on my feet. Instead, I hung from a tall pole, arms stretched to my side, clothes soaked in sweat, the field around me bare and void of residence, the sun beating down on me. I could feel my throat squeeze with thirst and my stomach grumble and ache with undying hunger. The energy for much thought had left me a couple days ago, the sun sucking my energy from me and the moon steeling m