08-13-2009, 05:37 PM
[html]
500+
Quietly, a fleeting smile moved across the silent lips. She was a part of the pack, the woman did not question that. But she was accustom to her solitude, to being alone even in her times of need. Save for with Onus, the black fae had never experienced the care of another, and she did not know when such a thing were required, for that knowing had been numbed by solitude itself. Indeed, Bane had carried her from Hybrid’s jaws and had ‘stitched’ her, as he had called it, but it had not felt the same, and she had returned to Dahlia within a matter of days. But two weeks she had been gone, her wounds and her pregnancy rendering her helpless, and her mental wounds making dark her days.
A soft nod of confirmation was given. "They will be." They would be unless they would be killed. Onus had said nothing, and Cwmfen herself had remained silent as well. Yet both knew of the possibility. These lives created of a black seed could carry the black hollowness of the crow wolf. For a greater good, the woman would kill her own young. Perhaps it could be said that Cwmfen nic Graine, sired, too, from the pied Korean, had grown far from darkness. But the woad warrior knew herself, and she knew what lingered there in her soul. Often she had wondered when the darkness would come for her, for surely it was as inevitable as the grip of Death. And she hoped that, when the time came, someone would be there to kill her. Perhaps it would be Onus. Perhaps it would be another. And whether she lived long enough to become the creature of darkness that was inherent within her blood or not, she knew that she would be killed. Those that lived by the sword died by the sword.
"I suppose the time is nigh," the soft alto responded, openly admitting that she did not know. The white orbs flickered over the Rosea as she fell back, leaning against the tree with a soft sigh. Her maw turned toward the swollen abdomen and she beheld an uncertainty. She wondered what it would happen next. What was next upon the pages of Fate? "It will not be long now," the susurrus came, nearly lost within the silence. The white orbs lifted to find Cercelee once more. "I will not be able to fully fulfill my duties until they no longer need me." She spoke as if the pups would be purged, as if her efforts to keep the darkness at bay would be successful. And the black fae spoke as if the litter would not accept her, not as if she would not accept the litter.
"But Brennt, the puppy-eater, is dead and no longer a threat," she informed the white woman, "as is Corvus." There was a dark certainty within the final words, and yet, strangely, no hate. Perhaps such a thing would go unnoticed, however, for emotions did not burn strongly within her as they did in others. "I expect little trouble to arise, but I will check periodically when I can." Cwmfen had suddenly become formal with the talk of her duty. But it was more of her passion than mere duty, and it was from that passion that she was kept. But it was clear that the woman would not allow danger to befall the pack, nor would she allow it to befall her litter—none save that which may prove to be necessary. "The pack should be safe." It was idleness and uselessness that sank into her bones, and, for the warrior who moved as the water and the wind must, stillness grew to a quiet, unbearable level.
[/html]
Quietly, a fleeting smile moved across the silent lips. She was a part of the pack, the woman did not question that. But she was accustom to her solitude, to being alone even in her times of need. Save for with Onus, the black fae had never experienced the care of another, and she did not know when such a thing were required, for that knowing had been numbed by solitude itself. Indeed, Bane had carried her from Hybrid’s jaws and had ‘stitched’ her, as he had called it, but it had not felt the same, and she had returned to Dahlia within a matter of days. But two weeks she had been gone, her wounds and her pregnancy rendering her helpless, and her mental wounds making dark her days.
A soft nod of confirmation was given. "They will be." They would be unless they would be killed. Onus had said nothing, and Cwmfen herself had remained silent as well. Yet both knew of the possibility. These lives created of a black seed could carry the black hollowness of the crow wolf. For a greater good, the woman would kill her own young. Perhaps it could be said that Cwmfen nic Graine, sired, too, from the pied Korean, had grown far from darkness. But the woad warrior knew herself, and she knew what lingered there in her soul. Often she had wondered when the darkness would come for her, for surely it was as inevitable as the grip of Death. And she hoped that, when the time came, someone would be there to kill her. Perhaps it would be Onus. Perhaps it would be another. And whether she lived long enough to become the creature of darkness that was inherent within her blood or not, she knew that she would be killed. Those that lived by the sword died by the sword.
"I suppose the time is nigh," the soft alto responded, openly admitting that she did not know. The white orbs flickered over the Rosea as she fell back, leaning against the tree with a soft sigh. Her maw turned toward the swollen abdomen and she beheld an uncertainty. She wondered what it would happen next. What was next upon the pages of Fate? "It will not be long now," the susurrus came, nearly lost within the silence. The white orbs lifted to find Cercelee once more. "I will not be able to fully fulfill my duties until they no longer need me." She spoke as if the pups would be purged, as if her efforts to keep the darkness at bay would be successful. And the black fae spoke as if the litter would not accept her, not as if she would not accept the litter.
"But Brennt, the puppy-eater, is dead and no longer a threat," she informed the white woman, "as is Corvus." There was a dark certainty within the final words, and yet, strangely, no hate. Perhaps such a thing would go unnoticed, however, for emotions did not burn strongly within her as they did in others. "I expect little trouble to arise, but I will check periodically when I can." Cwmfen had suddenly become formal with the talk of her duty. But it was more of her passion than mere duty, and it was from that passion that she was kept. But it was clear that the woman would not allow danger to befall the pack, nor would she allow it to befall her litter—none save that which may prove to be necessary. "The pack should be safe." It was idleness and uselessness that sank into her bones, and, for the warrior who moved as the water and the wind must, stillness grew to a quiet, unbearable level.