DISCLAIMER: Fire Emblem: Fates and all of its characters belong to Intelligent Systems (and any other major parties involved in the making of the Fire Emblem: Fates games). I own the plot, Dakota, (Name)'s personality and the decisions she makes. I do not make any profit from this fanfiction; it is solely intended for your reading pleasure.

(Name) = Your name.

(eye color) = Your eye color.

(hair color)/(hair length) = Hair color / Hair length.

(Pet Name) = An annoying name that pisses you off, no matter who it comes from.

(Nickname) = A cute name that makes you blush.

Your P.O.V.

Dakota and I are sitting on the floor of Keaton's den, waiting patiently and patching up each other's wounds. When we had first arrived back at the camp, the rest of the pack had teamed up, quickly making work of cleaning, bandaging, and successfully stopping the bleeding of Keaton's wound. Now, he's laying in his bed of moss in front of me, peacefully asleep.

"He's such a great leader," I blurt out, feeling a spark of admiration for him.

"It took him a couple of years to get where he is now," Dakota sighs nostalgically. "And a few too many sacrifices along the way."

"Heh, I know what that feels like," I mutter solemnly.

I lower my head as horrible images of my imprisonment in Hoshido flash across my field of vision, bringing tears to my eyes. The ones that stick the most are mainly of me crying over my parents' dead bodies. The last image is of the traumatizing day when I nearly lost everything.

"What do you mean?" Dakota asks, turning me to her and holding my face in both of her hands, forcing me to look up at her.

There's silence as she stares into my pain-filled (eye color) eyes. When she speaks again, she seems to have a much better understanding of the ghostly past that's haunting me.

"(Name), sweetie," she whispers softly, her voice having a sort of welcoming, motherly tenderness. "Tell me everything."

And tell her I did. Absolutely everything. Weeping against her shoulder all the while, she pets my head calmly, both of us blissfully unaware that Keaton was soaking in every word. Once I had finished telling my sob story and managed to calm down, Dakota urges me to get some rest and offers to let me sleep in her bed of moss with her. With a long yawn, I gratefully accept her offer, curling up in the center of the moss bed while Dakota wraps her form around mine, just as a Wolfskin mother would her pups. It's this small gesture that makes me feel the happiest I've ever felt in years.

Dakota's P.O.V.

"He called her (Pet Name)," I hear Chief growl from the opposite corner of the den, his every word laced with fury.

"Keaton, go to sleep," I hiss quietly at him, aware that (Name) is curled up and sound asleep with her body pressed up against my frame. "We'll talk in the morning."

"He has no right to call her that," he grumbles angrily, his crimson gaze shimmering softly in what little moonlight shone into the den. "I don't care how you put it; what that Hoshidan royal prick did to her is deplorable."

So he was listening the whole time, I think to myself, feeling a stab of dull pain. It must have been hard on him, hearing about something like that happening to his own kin.

The air is quiet and tense as he lays his head down into his bed of moss.

"Only a mate has any right to call her by a pet name like that," Keaton mutters.

"Are you implying something here, Chief?" I growl, challenging him.

"Yes, I am, Dakota," he snaps back at me. "For one, what Takumi did to her is by no definition called love, it's called rape. He doesn't have any right to call her (Pet Name). And for another, she is a Wolfskin. Therefore, she is a part of this pack now... and as Chief, it's my duty to protect my kin!"

"She's not a Wolfskin, Keaton,"

At this, his head shoots up from his bed of moss and he looks at me with sheer disbelief.

"She's a Wolf's Kin."

I look down at (Name), remembering the days when Keaton's father was Chief. At that time, I had only recently been named Deputy Chief and my grandmother was still alive.

"My grandmother was a Wolf's Kin. They're the original line of our kin; humans having the ability to transform into wolves with the help of a special stone forever bound to their soul."

"Beaststones," Keaton whispers in comprehension. "But then how come we can't do the same?"

"The form of the Wolf's Kin represents purity of mind, body, and soul," I answer quietly as (Name) squirms a little bit in her sleep, Chief looking at me like I have three heads. "Their Beaststones, and Beastrunes would allow them to transform into an Arctic Wolf. However, some of the Wolf's Kin became tainted by hatred, greed, and revenge, which corrupted their stones and caused their forms to become permanently impure. Thus was born the line of Wolfskin."

Another silence graces Keaton's den, the only sound being (Name) snuggling closer to me.

"So, does that mean that she's-..." Chief pauses for a few heartbeats. "Is she the last of the Wolf's Kin?"

"Unfortunately, yes," my reply comes gravely, which sparks a wave of pity from Keaton. "Unless she takes a mate."

He perks up at the mention of this and I can't help but laugh, laying my head down on the bed of moss next to (Name)'s.

"Sleep, Keaton. We'll talk tomorrow."