12-29-2008, 12:21 AM
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Of course, she finds out that she actually wasn’t raped, but she dosen’t know that yet, ^=^ 500+ The woad-marked she-wolf absently observed the meat between them. She studied its tender texture, the small rivulets of blood that had carried life to the heart, and noted the way the soft fur moved against her breath as she breathed. The female was silent and let the silent blanket them. She both regretted and was content that she had told the mahogany male. She realized then that she had told him nothing. She had simply thrown a single, solitary, fragile rope across a great divide. Whether that rope had reached the other side was questionable. But she would soon—either now or sometime later—learn the answer to that unasked question. The black, woad-banded ears swiveled back as she shyly anticipated the question that he would ask, both dreading that moment and eager for it. He did not disappoint her. Why? Why indeed. She often asked herself why. Why didn’t she just stay and fight? Why didn’t she defend herself? Why didn’t she welcome death’s wings and let that crow carry her across that river? A sigh of resignation escaped her. “I don’t know,” she muttered to herself, lowering her marked head to her black paws. There was a strangeness in her tone, something dark and brooding, something bloodthirsty and frustrated, something afraid. The white orbs seemed to glare at the ground, staring down an unseen monster with such intensity as to force anyone to look away. There was something haunting lurking within the milky whiteness of those eyes—a bitterness. She turned to look up at Sankor, but her dark expression had been discarded. A sad smile flickered across her lips, a barely discernable gesture. She had been strong enough to resist that dark road that such bitterness would lead her down, but for how long? The black wolf feared that one day that road would prove too tempting, and that she would find herself walking upon it eagerly, unable to turn back. But for now, she was safe upon the brightly lit path, and she was sharing a snack with a nice male. “I was running from my father,” the alto voice offered at length, so quietly that her words could easily have been missed. The white orbs searched the eyes that held the colours of the wild woods. Then she turned away again, snapping absently upon a protruding bone. “He wanted my mother to have a son....” Once again, she wondered at herself. Why did she decide to tell him this? It was not as if he needed to know. It was not as if she needed to tell him. And yet she found herself continuing. “When her litter, save for me, were stillborns, he was dissatisfied. But he kept her alive so that she would raise me, and she did.” She loved her mother. “But...but once I was old enough, he killed her....” She was silent for a while, remembering the horrific scene. Her mother had been a warrior too, but Corvus had simply been too much for her. “I was able to escape. I thought that he would only want to kill me, but--” Anger and humiliation choked her, and she had to swallow them to continue. “But he want a son out of me too.... Before I came here, before I found Dahlia, he found and raped me.” She spat the last words with snarl, and was silent once more. Her black body trembled with barely containable rage and emotion, but, after several trying moments, she quieted herself. “He knew that I wasn’t mature enough to bear pups. It was merely an act of claiming me, of letting me know that he would get what he wanted.” As she finished her story, she rested her head on her paws once more, breathing deeply to calm herself, unable to look upon Sankor. How stupid and small she felt then.  |