The 7 month old girl struggled furiously in her mothers arms as she attempted to wrap her in a blanket. It had become a nightly ritual for Margi, the girls mother, a battle of wills to keep the young girl warm. While the baby girl fought like the devil to be kept unrestricted, if Margi left the blankets loose the girl would move around so much in her sleep she would somehow struggle out of her blankets and wake up crying and cold. So Margi battled on with the girl. Who'd have thought that the young girl would have adopted her mothers feisty nature? You wouldn't be able to tell by looking at her that the baby was Margi's legitimate child. The baby girl was as dark as Margi was fair. Her caramel skin, thick dark tuft of hair and deep brown eyes spoke everything of her father and nothing of her mother. If only she had of adopted his charming and easy-going nature! Margi often grumbled to herself, particularly during this night-time battle. But she loved her sweet baby girl, and her looks as dissimilar to her own were a living memorial to her father, whom Margi loved dearly.
Margi was now 19 but was only 18 when she had given birth to the girl. It was young, very young she knew. But she had run off to join a travelling rodeo show and fell in love with a handsome and exotic Native-American. It wasn't the kind of fling that girls her age had- it was the real thing. Mostly Margi remembered hot days, the kind where the air went all wavy because of the heat and the crowds were mostly still except for the constant waving movement of people batting flies away from their faces. And she remembered the smell of saddle-polish, the dust that flicked the air and the way he pulled his coyboy hat low over his eyes and smiled at her. And it wasn't an I-think-you're-kind-of-interesting smile. It was as though they had found in each other something... special. There was something unique about this man, a kind of power subdued underneath a layer and another layer and another and wrapped up in a package that was carefree and wild. And Margi couldn't wait to discover everything about him. He found her interesting to- he was constantly amazed by the way she carried herself. In awe of how she was so kind and strong at the same time. They were two care-free spirits, they fed off each other and nurtured each other. Margi remembered heat, laughter and love. All of her memories of this time shone bright in her mind, everything bathed in yellow sunshine. But two people such as themselves are rarely meant to shine together forever. And as it were, before Margi was able to tell the Indian man she had so dearly loved that she was pregnant, he had died in a car crash. Such a mediocre way to end for such an enigmatic man, Margi thought sometimes. Before each show when her rodeo man would go out to a particularly dangerous beast he would tilt his cowboy hat up, look her right in the eye and give a kind of half-smile and say "I'll be back for that kiss" in a teasing voice and turn away from her. When he returned he would kiss her before saying anything. Sometime he would take of his hat and fix it on her head which made her glow.
But life was tough- Margi knew this, and was tough herself. She would not let this loss break her, and she would go on to love more strongly, as she knew her rodeo man would have wanted. And so she poured all her love into her daughter, who was a handful, but who was a testimony of the love she once shared with a man who she would sadly never even begin to get to know as well as she once hoped. Her baby girl finally gave in to her mothers blankets wrapped around her and gave her a cheeky, if tired, smile. Margi couldn't help but laugh, "one day, girl, you will keep a man's hands very full!" but she leaned in close as she gave her child a kiss on the cheek and said, "but that man will be very lucky indeed". Margi half-closed the door and went into her own room to bed.
Hours later Margi woke to a strange sound- a crying sound... no... a whimpering? Margi rolled sideways out of bed flicking on her bedside lamp which to her tired eyes illuminated the room, hallway and nursery room beyond. She sleepily made her way towards the baby's room as the sound got louder and louder. Margi made her way across the room and peered into the cot, and what she saw woke her up completely. She gave a quiet shriek and reached into the crib to search for her daughter. But all she found curled in the blankets and making trapped little noises was a tiny pup. A pup which ceased whining when Margi picked her up and cradled her in her arms. A pup with remarkably similar eyes... to her daughter.
Bran surveyed the ten month old girl playing in his lounge with a careful intensity. A very young, scared girl sat at his table sobbing. As distraught as she was she was still quite beautiful, despite her normally cheerful features being twisted in anguish. She had been out of options, Bran had known. She had already told him her story from the time she had met a mysterious Indian rodeo man up until she had found a coyote pup in her daughters crib instead of a baby. Bran was quite interested in how a human knew about him and his wolf pack, to which she tearfully explained that her uncle had friends in the werewolf community and had informed his family about it even though he was forbidden to do so and then swore his family to secrecy. His family had agreed to his request, largely not believing him. Margi had not really thought about it again until recently, when seeing her daughter shift into a coyote pup all of a sudden made werewolves seem all the more realistic. She had contacted her uncle who had contacted his friend who had gotten a hold of Bran. Now all that was left was his decision.
"Margi, it's all right" he said forcefully, because it was important that she believe him.
"In my opinion- and I honestly don't know how different walkers are to werewolves- she cannot stay within the strictly human society. It would not be safe for herself or others. There is little I know about the native preternatural species of this country- I was preoccupied with other things at the time her kind were populating this area". At this news Margi gave a subdued sob but waited for Bran to continue speaking.
"She is a predator Margi. To what extent, I do not know. But the supernatural community will not risk having a preternatural creature risking exposure in the public. For her safety and your own, you will leave her with me". It was not a request, Bran knew, but he could not afford to be flippant with this- he knew of other preternatural creatures who were even more abrasive when dealing with the risk of exposure than even the wolves. Without guidance and protection this young girl would likely end up dead. The protective Alpha instinct in Bran could not allow that to happen. He would not give this young mother any misgivings about it. After a lengthy discussion in which Bran assured Margi she could visit her daughter she eventually agreed that this would be the best thing for her.
Margi stood up to leave, firstly picking up her daughter and giving her a long hug and a sad kiss farewell. The baby squirmed against her mothers hug. Her baby daughter was quite preoccupied with trying to pull away the iron gate which shielded the fireplace (which was not lit)- after being told repeatedly not to- before her mother had interrupted her with this over-long hug. Margi put the girl back down, and she immediately began crawling again towards the iron gate eagerly. And then Margi turned, eyes blazing towards Bran.
"You will do everything you can to protect her" she commanded, in a voice so powerful, as mothers often are, that even Bran felt the wave of dominance wash over him from the 5ft 0" blonde 19 year old entirely human girl- if only for a millisecond.
"I promise, I will do everything within my power to love and keep your child from harm" Bran swore solemnly, giving a low bow which should have looked sarcastic or cheesy but somehow fit in perfectly and emphasised Bran's seriousness to his vow.
"Good" nodded Margi shortly, "now keep Mercedes out of the fireplace" and she turned and walked resolutely out of the door, determined not to look back lest she cry again.
Bran turned to see the girl climbing determinately into the ashy soot covered floor of the fireplace after apparently achieving her aim or pulling the iron gate to one side and he moved with inhumane speed to scoop her up in his arms. The girl giggled at Bran's speed- indeed it must have seemed a fast ride for her, a game. Despite his speed he still had been too late to prevent the little girl from crawling into the dirty unlit fireplace. She looked up at him, laughing and covered in ash and soot from her adventure.
"And how am I supposed to keep you out of the fire?" Bran asked Mercedes Athena Thompson resolutely- she pulled at his ears in response.