Word Count » 345
The hybrid rarely stopped to question relationships; they unfolded and were as they were, and she did not dedicate thought to them. The odd, distant blood between herself and Sirius that made them closer family than her immediate half-siblings in her mind, her strange balance with Ouija, somewhere between friendship and outright sexuality in her mind -- these things were not given much thought to even when her mind was not occupied.
The one she thought of most, perhaps as expected, was Larkspur. The awkwardness of their relationship bothered her the most, as she spent time with him. She did not find him intelligent and the awkwardness in their interactions stuck in her mind the most. She felt she did not truly know him, and though she loved her children, she questioned whether she loved him. It seemed expected of them; they had children together. Maybe it was simply social pressure keeping them together, even.
These thoughts were far from her head as she reveled in this place, not entirely unfamiliar to her but still rife with unexplored nooks and crannies, secret places they would steadily uncover in the coming months. She looked to Sirius at the bark, though her eyes did not meet his any longer, and quickly stalked back toward him, peering down at what he held in his hand with interest, bright and pleased with the appearance of the spiny weed along their borders. He spoke, and she simply nodded her approval, gazing to his palm and moving to pluck the thing from his hand carefully.
When she removed it, she saw the drop of blood there, and her free hand without the clutched thistle moved beneath his, and pushed it up toward her muzzle, gingerly licking the blood away from Sirius's padded palm. Her teeth showed in another grin, and she removed her hand from his slowly, not allowing for his hand to simply drop away. “I like it. It's Italian? What does it mean?” she asked, assuming it would be -- it did not sound like a word she knew.
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