The air smelled like pine sap and frozen earth, heavy with the remnants of smoke and unspoken words. Shauna shifted her weight in the snow, arms crossed tight over her chest, watching the last curl of incense rise from the crude bowl Lottie had filled with charred twigs and crushed berries.
The fire had long since gone out, the last smoke trailing skyward like a thread unraveling into nothing. The blessing was over. The others lingered, murmuring low under their breath, half-frozen in the frigid air and half-hypnotized by Lottie’s voice, which still seemed to echo in the space between pine trunks.
The wilderness was quieter these days.
Ever since the cabin burned down, everything had shifted. The cold bit harder. The darkness pressed closer. People watched the treeline like it might blink.
Lottie stood at the center, her expression serene and unreadable, hands still raised slightly from the ritual. They had come to rely on her more since the cabin. A prophet seemingly protecting them from the dangers of the forest.
A garland of brittle pine needles crowned her dark, tousled hair, and a smear of ash across one cheekbone. The others stood in a rough circle around her, silent, uncertain, huddled in mismatched coats, cheeks pink from cold.
"Let the wilderness hear us," Lottie said softly, voice barely above the wind. "Let it know we are here with reverence. That we belong."
Nat rolled her eyes behind Lottie's back. Mari adjusted her scarf, casting a side-eye at Shauna, who had clearly not been trying to look reverent at all.
Shauna crossed her arms and turned toward camp, sneakers crunching over frost-hardened needles. She wasn't in the mood to stand around and pretend to believe in… whatever this was. Worshiping the cold didn’t make it any warmer.
Behind her, Mari’s voice cut through the stillness. “You could at least try to look like you care.”
Shauna stopped mid-step. Her breath fogged in front of her face as she slowly turned back around. She was so sick of Mari’s shit. It was like the other girl never seemed to shut up.
“What did you say?”
Mari lifted her chin defiantly. “You heard me.”
“I didn’t realize this was church. Thought we were just pretending to be witches in the middle of nowhere.”
“If you don’t believe in it, why show up at all?” Mari snapped.
"Because it's freezing and I'm not about to let you burn down the goddamn forest while I try and sleep," Shauna snapped. "And maybe because I don’t like the idea of some of you going full Salem-witch-trial every time a squirrel dies."
“That’s enough.”
Lottie didn’t raise her head. She was crouched over her ring of stones, arranging them with deliberate care, her fingers red from the cold. A bird called out once in the distance, thin and lonely.
“I need to convene with the wilderness,” she said softly. “Alone.”
There was no room for argument in her voice.
The others glanced at each other, murmured, shuffled, but none of them questioned her for long. Not anymore. Whether it was fear or awe –or both– Lottie had settled into a place of quiet authority none of them dared to test too often.
One by one, they turned toward their self-made camp– a few shelters lashed together with branches and what they could scavenge from the plane, the burned skeleton of the old cabin still visible in the distance like a warning.
Shauna followed the movement, about to turn too, when Lottie's voice cut through the woods again.
"Not you."
Shauna stopped mid-step. She looked over her shoulder, her brow creased, her jaw already tightening.
"What?"
"Stay," Lottie said, more gently this time.
Shauna hesitated. The others paused too, curious, but Lottie didn’t look at them. She continued arranging stones in the makeshift altar they had created.
The others turned and left, their footsteps crunching softly in the snow until the woods fell quiet again. Shauna stood awkwardly, arms crossed tight.
Lottie didn’t respond. She adjusted another rock, her hair falling forward in dark waves, damp from melted snow. Her hands moved slowly, methodically, stacking rocks in deliberate patterns at the feet of a small pine trunk where they'd created a sort of altar. Bones, feathers, and scraps of burned cloth ringed it—half-sacred, half-savage.
Shauna fidgeted, her breath fogging up in front of her face. "So what? You want me to help you build your rock pile?"
Still no answer.
"Lottie," she said, sharper now.
Lottie finally looked up, her gaze hazy but focused—like she’d come out of a dream. "I’ve noticed you’ve been tense lately."
Shauna blinked. "No shit. We’re stranded in the fucking wilderness. Everyone's starving. And—oh, right, we’re worshiping dirt now. What’s not to be tense about?"
Lottie smiled faintly, tilting her head. "You know, for someone who tries to act like none of this means anything, you’re always the first one to speak when I talk about the wilderness."
"That’s because someone needs to say when things are getting weird," Shauna shot back. Her voice was too loud in the stillness. She lowered it. "Someone has to be grounded."
"Mmm." Lottie turned her attention back to the stones, smoothing her thumb over a flat piece of shale like it might whisper secrets to her if she just listened hard enough.
Shauna sighed and shifted her weight, her boots crunching lightly in the snow. She didn’t know why she was still standing there. Maybe because it felt like leaving would be admitting something—she just didn’t know what.
After a long pause, Lottie said, "How long has it been since you dropped?"
Shauna’s spine went rigid.
"What?"
Lottie didn’t look up.
Shauna’s voice came out low and wary. "What the hell are you talking about?"
Now Lottie looked at her, and this time there was something piercing in her gaze—something that saw too much.
"You know what I mean."
Shauna scoffed, took a step back like the distance would help. "I’m neutral."
Lottie raised an eyebrow, her expression maddeningly calm. "Are you?"
Shauna felt the back of her neck prickle. "Yeah. I am."
Lottie hummed softly. "I don’t think so."
Shauna opened her mouth to retort, but nothing came out. The wind stirred again, tugging her hair loose from where it had been jammed under her knit cap. She didn’t like the way Lottie was looking at her—like she was a puzzle with one piece left out, and Lottie had found it tucked behind her ribs.
"You don’t know what you’re talking about," Shauna said, quieter now.
"I think I do."
“I am ,” Shauna said, more forcefully this time. “Jesus.”
"I think you’ve been pretending for so long you’ve started to believe it."
Shauna’s breath caught in her throat.
"I’ve seen the way you hold yourself," Lottie continued. "The way you react when someone raises their voice. When Van or Tai touches your wrist. When I look at you too long."
Shauna’s mouth opened. Closed. Her fists clenched at her sides, blood pounding loud in her ears.
"You think you're in control," Lottie said gently. "But you’re just holding your breath. You’ve been doing it for months. Holding onto that little bit of control.”
Shauna took another step back, but it was unsteady. She suddenly hated how quiet it was, how the snow muffled everything but the pounding of her own heart.
"I’m not… I don’t need that. I’ve never needed—"
"You haven’t dropped since Jackie died, have you?"
Lottie’s voice was calm, like she was asking if Shauna had eaten breakfast.
Shauna’s face was pale. Her lips parted, but her voice didn’t come. Her throat felt too tight.
"That’s why you're snapping at everyone. Why you can't sleep. Why you shake when you think no one’s looking."
"You don’t know what you’re talking about," Shauna whispered, but it was weak.
Lottie stood, moving slowly, like she didn’t want to spook her. She stepped close—not touching, just enough that Shauna could feel her heat in the freezing air.
"I’m not here to take anything from you," Lottie said. "I just want you to stop pretending you're not tired."
Shauna’s eyes burned suddenly, fiercely. She looked down, jaw tight, biting back everything threatening to rise. She hated how true the words felt. How good it felt just to be seen. It made her want to break something.
“I don’t want this,” she whispered.
“No,” Lottie agreed. “But you need it.”
Shauna blinked hard against the sting behind her eyes. “I don’t know how to stop.”
“You don’t have to,” Lottie said. “You just have to let me.”
Silence fell between them, heavy as snowfall.
Shauna didn’t move. She stood there breathing, chest tight, eyes bright with something she didn’t want to name.
Then, slowly, like a string snapping one fragile thread at a time, her shoulders dropped. Just slightly. Her fists loosened.
And Lottie stepped closer—still not touching, but close enough to feel the shift. Her voice was low now, soothing, grounding.
“ Good girl ,” she whispered.
Shauna shuddered.
And in the distance, the woods breathed with them.
The woods loomed like silent sentinels as Lottie led the way.
Shauna followed, her steps slower, more hesitant, every crunch of snow beneath her boots sounding too loud. The camp wasn’t far—their scattered, crooked collection of shelters wrapped around the clearing like broken ribs around a hollowed-out chest—but Lottie’s hut sat farther out, tucked just close enough to be part of the circle and yet unmistakably… separate.
It was closer to the shrine, to the trees. To whatever force Lottie claimed spoke through bones and wind and firelight.
Shauna didn’t look back, but her skin prickled like eyes were on her. She knew no one was around—most of the others had gone to scavenge firewood or back to their own huts. Still, her shoulders tensed. If someone did see her walking this path behind Lottie, what would they think?
What would they say ?
Lottie’s hut came into view—little more than lashed-together branches, insulated with furs and scrap cloth stolen from the wreckage. It was neater than most. Tended to. Cared for in a way that felt… ceremonial.
As they reached the entrance, Lottie pushed the makeshift curtain aside and stepped in first. Shauna hesitated at the threshold, eyes narrowing at the faint scent of crushed herbs and smoke that clung to the inside.
Lottie turned, looking back at her. “Come in.”
Shauna exhaled sharply through her nose, then ducked inside.
The moment she crossed the threshold, Lottie pulled the curtain shut behind them. The cold was quieter here. The world dimmed.
Shauna stood stiffly, her breath catching in her throat.
Lottie didn’t speak at first. She moved with the same eerie grace she always had, settling down into the center of the space, her movements precise, deliberate.
Then she looked up and said, “Sit.”
Shauna blinked, the word scraping across her skin like ice. “What?” she scoffed, eyebrows raised. “You want me to kneel or something?”
Lottie didn’t flinch. She just sighed, long and soft.
“Sit,” she repeated, quieter this time. “Please.”
There was no threat in her voice. No command barked out like the Dominants Shauna had read about in books. Just certainty,anchored and patient.
Lottie lowered herself into a cross-legged position on the ground, resting her hands loosely on her knees. She looked at Shauna expectantly.
After a long, tense moment, Shauna exhaled and dropped into a stiff sit across from her, one knee drawn up like a shield, the other leg folded awkwardly underneath her. Her eyes were sharp, alert, watching Lottie’s every move.
Lottie smiled faintly, but didn’t say anything for a while.
The silence stretched long enough that Shauna started to shift. “Are we gonna chant now? Sacrifice a mouse or something?”
“Close your eyes,” Lottie said, gently.
Shauna snorted. “Seriously?”
“Close them.”
Shauna rolled her eyes, muttered something under her breath—but after a beat, she did it.
“Now breathe,” Lottie said. “With me.”
Shauna inhaled—too quick—and Lottie tsked softly.
“Slow. In through your nose.”
Shauna resisted the urge to scowl, but followed the instruction. She inhaled slowly, let it out.
“Again.”
They breathed together, the air between them warming slightly with each exhale. Outside, the wind brushed against the hut like a lullaby made of branches.
“You’re safe here,” Lottie said quietly. “I’m here. And I’ll protect you.”
Shauna’s eyebrows knit, her lips pressing together—but her eyes stayed closed.
She didn’t say the obvious. Didn’t point out that if she wanted to, she could overpower Lottie in an instant. That her hands had already been stained in ways Lottie’s never had. That whatever fantasy Lottie had about being the protector… it wasn’t based in reality.
But she didn’t say it.
Lottie’s voice came again, low and soft. “You don’t have to hold everything by yourself anymore. Not here.”
Shauna’s breathing slowed. Her spine loosened. Her muscles didn’t ache quite so sharply from the ever-present tension that had lived in her since the crash. Since the blood. Since Jackie.
“Stay with me,” Lottie whispered. “Keep your eyes closed. Listen to me.”
Shauna did.
She listened.
And something began to shift.
It wasn’t dramatic. It wasn’t immediate. But it was unmistakable. The sharp edges inside her dulled. The war in her head quieted. Her shoulders—always coiled tight, always ready to defend, attack, flee—finally began to fall.
She could feel herself falling deep within subspace. Lottie’s calming presence washing over her.
The silence was thick and safe and warm, held only by the sound of their breathing, and Lottie’s voice threading through it like a lifeline.
“You’re doing so well,” Lottie said. “You can let go.”
Shauna swallowed hard. Her lips were parted slightly now, her face soft with something she didn’t have a name for. Something that scared her.
“Lie down,” Lottie said. “Put your head in my lap.”
Shauna’s eyes fluttered behind her lids, confusion flickering there as the command washed over her, but she obeyed, pupils blown wide. She had never had someone command her like that before. She had heard them be used –mostly by freshly presented Doms who had no idea what they were doing or the ones that tried to harass the few submissives in school– but because of her perceived neutral status she had never been subject to the assault.
Shauna moved slowly, like she was underwater, and eased herself down until her cheek rested against the warmth of Lottie’s thigh. Her heart thudded heavy in her chest, but not from fear.
Lottie’s fingers began to move through her hair. Gentle. Careful. Repetitive.
Shauna’s breath hitched.
“You’re safe,” Lottie said again. “You’re not alone.”
The world outside didn’t matter anymore. The cold. The hunger. The eyes she thought might be watching. It all faded. There was only Lottie’s lap beneath her and Lottie’s fingers in her hair, and the quiet, steady heartbeat she swore she could hear under Lottie’s skin.
Shauna didn’t mean to relax. But she did.
Didn’t mean to drift.
But her body softened further, her arms loosening at her sides. Her breath evened out.
Her last thought before sleep took her was that no one had touched her like this since before the crash. Not even Jackie. Not even Jeff.
And for once, she didn’t feel the need to carry the weight of herself.
Lottie’s voice was the last thing she heard.
“Good girl,” she whispered.
And then the wilderness fell away.