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So sorry about the delay in this. I figure we can wrap this up now?
It was Aurèle’s upbringing that had, by and large, made her the way she was. After that first and terrible darkness she had turned cold, turned against siblings who were too stupid to realize something was wrong. That she was wrong. Gradually she had let that darkness bottle itself up inside, let it be buried as deep and as far away as possible. The cruelty had lingered. She needed it to survive. Without that she would have been no different then her sister. She would have been weak. Aurèle did not need others in order to make her happy, or to fill up some part of her that was empty. She had walls built of ice that filled the empty parts of her with cold reason.
If that made her cruel, so be it. “I can see it having advantages,” she mused, perched on the edge of the stream. The spear was a grand tool, but it felt foreign in her hands. It disconnected the wielder from the thrill of the kill—from the blood, from the thrashing that came with the last breaths. Though she did not see it in such grand terms (whatever else she was, Aurèle was no philosopher) it took the humanity out of the kill by disconnecting the user from the death they caused. She would never be happy hunting in such a way, though she would do so because it was a skill that might be needed. The pale woman made her way back into the cold water, taking up the same position she had before, but said nothing more. Like her silent companion, there was no need to be wordy. They would speak through their bodies, through this act, as all hunters did.
