102 Degrees Fahrenheit (OPEN)

((Oops! Fixed it. And oh, who is this Allyz? *eyebrow raise*))

He let go of her and took a step back to study her face. She seemed sincere, but there was a flicker of uneasiness in her eyes. He could only think of two reasons why she was feeling put off by him: either she was a total germaphobe, or had a mate. He decided to go with the latter, since she had taken care of him, and in doing so, had to have come in contact with his body.

"So," he said with a rakish grin, "how am I going to be, doc? I'm not dead yet, so I'm taking that as a good sign."

There was a flash of pain in the right side of his face, but he ignored it.

"Care for very deeply," he murmured. The words stirred an odd, heated feeling deep within his chest--and an image. He quickly brushed it aside. She was always haunting him, showing up in his dreams, gliding through his mind like a phantom. He shivered, but not from the cold.

"Like a mate? Or a lover?" he asked, thankful for the distraction. He was genuinely surprised that he had guessed right.

His eyes lit up with curiosity. She had definitely piqued his interest. "Allyz. What is he like?" he asked. He tried to coax a smile onto his face but the pain flared up again and it fled. Talking created an itching sensation, but smiling--perhaps he could do without it.

His thoughts turned to the pale wraith that had wrapped herself in the darkness of his mind. He tried to revive her, but she deflected him and he was forced to look back at Aislinn and give up.

"I see. So it's love." He felt her shift slightly, almost restlessly. "What is it like?"

There was a soft sigh, then the gentle rustling of motion. Who are you? he asked, but she simply turned to look at him, her blue eyes swollen with--what? tears?--and he looked steadily back at her; but try as he might, he could not yet give her a name. A small light flickered on, as if of its own accord, and doused her in a pool of warm golden light. She moved again, this time a listless flick of the tail, but her eyes she did not draw back, and continued to stare openly into his face. It was like she was the one studying him.

Anger and frustration boiled inside him. Who are you? he cried out, his voice desperate, cracked, and he attempted to reach out to her but she understood his meaning too well and turned and fled back into the shadows. He cursed and struggled to resurface.

"Fly?" He tried to laugh, but gave that up too. "Wouldn't that be frightening?" He lifted the left corner of his mouth--it didn't hurt. Progress. "And by the way, where did you learn about herbs? You patched me up quite well." He pointed to his chest, which was a mess of scabbed over flesh, broken skin, squished herbs, and plant juices.

Just like that last night, the wind had turned in Hawkstorm's favor, and he received the scent of new blood with a half-hearted snarl. It hurt to even do that.

"Aislinn," he broke in urgently, "I think we are being watched."

"Can't you smell it? The blood?" He raised his head in the air and took a long draught of the wind. "I don't recognize the scent. Do you?"

Hawkstorm rushed him, charging up the slope and into the trees with the force of a train wreck, gathering speed and accelerating with each passing second. He came upon Blakr and nearly ran him through with his claws when he realized who it was and sank back down into the snow, utterly spent. That last adrenaline rush had been fueling him from the start of the morning, but now the pain was creeping up on him in full force. He felt dizzy.

"What are you doing here?"

"What?" He looked absolutely livid, his mouth curled up in a nasty snarl, his eyes flashing and burning like fire. And then the fire too was extinguished, and he was like a lonely child, caught and trembling in the cold. "Why?"