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The silver-furred coyote was falling apart—physically, mentally, logically. She couldn't defend keeping Vieira as her pet, and some deeper part of her knew that. Yet the largest part of Kaena simply wanted to flare up, to rage against anything that might be raged against, and Rikka's objections were simply the most convenient thing. She was getting older, and her body had begun to steadily remind her of that fact. Joints creaked and ached now, and with the onset of cold weather her old wounds had begun to burn occasionally, painful prods and jabs at her older body. Her mind was falling apart—she could no longer hold together the pieces of her consciousness together. It seemed the glue that had held her mind together for so long had finally begun to deteriorate. Though she felt as if she were coming apart at the seams, the coyote remained outwardly calm, directing her single eye over Rikka's grey-and-gold face, forcing herself to listen to the golden-furred coyote's words, even though she truly did not want to. Kaena would have rather turned and walked away now.
It was true. Vieira was not her child. She had made that abundantly clear by spitting Astaroth's name to Rikka here and now; the accusation of the Quintus's parentage sliding from the scarred muzzle of the silver-furred woman. She had no response for this; there was no answer she could offer her daughter for this statement. It was true. Vieira was not her child, and Kaena certainly did not think of Vieira as her child, not even a little bit. So she remained silent, her coal-black lips drawn into a thin line as she looked at Rikka, the woman's next words directly contradicting the Centurion's. Kae snorted softly; perhaps that was simply the point at which she and her daughter simply diverged. The silver-furred coyote believed every living thing was no longer innocent; it was as if there was a concept of Original Sin embedded into Kaena without ever having absorbed any of the religion from whence it came.
"She is not a child. She is not innocent," the hybrid repeated, deciding instead to detract what Rikka had said. Vieira's mind being child-like did not constitute to Kaena that Vieira herself was a child; the silvery Centurion simply could not equate the mental state of childhood with actually being one herself. The coyote frowned, and looked at Rikka, directing her gaze on the golden-furred hybrid defiantly, almost petulantly. "If she's happy, why does her status matter?" She wanted to tack on the words "to you" but even that seemed to harsh. Rikka was her daughter, after all. Kaena could not be nasty to her own children without provocation; such a thing was not within her. For all of Kaena's viciousness, she had infinite patience where her own children were concerned, and only the worst of wrongs phased her. As a leader, Kaena was less used to being questioned—but their relationship preceded that of rank, and the silver-furred coyote had separated that issue entirely in her mind.
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