She knew this day was coming long before it ever happened. She had seen it in dreams, in her reflection, in the eyes of him. She had heard it whispered in the wind has it blew through the trees. She had tried to warn her family. She pleaded with them so desperately, endlessly saying silver-tipped thorn would be the death of her. In her reflection, she saw that thorn slice at her face and her neck. It washed out of her in waves, carried away on the wind in waves. And it was golden like the sun.

No one ever believed her. Thorns couldn't hurt, they said. And they certainly couldn't kill. But after years and years, they finally had another watch over her. It quieted the vision, for a time. But then, when a silver-furred stranger visited the pack, the vision came back with a vengeance. The thorn had grown, slick with blood that was no longer her own. And when it slashed, it didn't start at her face. No, it started lower, poking and prodding at her belly. It threatened to gut her with each caress, but she was unable to run. Only when she pushed it away did it go for her throat, and once again her golden blood was washed away.

For days, all she could say to anyone that the thorn would be her undoing. Most brushed her off — the ramblings of the deranged daughter. Even her parents no longer indulged her visions. They insisted she would do as she was told, and make them proud by being a good wife. The only one who ever listened was her knight. But even he was a lot on what to do, and so simply remained by her side.

The night her betrothed stepped into her den, her guard had been out fetching an herb to help her sleep. She hadn't slept in days. Slipping into the den, his teeth glittered in the moonlight, claws flexing as he stared at his golden bride. But she wouldn't let him close, backing herself into the corner. She was no fighter. All she could say was 'the thorn' as the man grew more and more angry. He snapped, lunging at Nienna as she was unable to do anything. He hurt her worse than any vision. She tried to close her eyes to block out her own screaming, but opened them when she felt the trickle of blood by her paws. Though blackness tugged at her vision, she watched as her blood swirled from red to gold. As she felt the man's jaws around her throat, she let out a sigh of relief.

---

Blinking sleep from her pale blue eyes, the woman slowly woke to faint sunlight trying to filter through billowing branches. A light frost tipped the top of the grass around her paws. The air had a slight chill to it, a sign she knew meant winter. Her vision was already weaker, making it that much harder to see through the trendles of the great tree she found herself laying under. She could've sworn she had been somewhere else, but any memory she tried to grasp slipped through her fingers like a mist. Her throat was sore, as if she had been screaming. But what could've caused such a thing? There was nothing here but ice-tipped grass, willow trees dancing in a light breeze, and the sun trying to steal kisses through the cracks of foliage. Too serene a place to warrant such a harsh feeling.

She yawned, in spite of her confusion, but was content to lay among the roots of the beautiful tree.