Word Count :: 501 HEHE. Lazy nephew. <3 POOR USELESS HARLOWE, EVERYONE HATES HIM~ Also RAMBLEEEEE you can skip to like the last paragraph. :|
As much as the coal-hued woman wanted to shield her children from what they were, as much as she wished to protect them from the disease that was her known family, she could not do such a thing. It had been done to her, and she knew what it was like -- it would be easier to lie to these children; she knew the truth, but she also knew the eventual consequences of such things. She would not have them resent her as she resented her mother and her greater family. The sable-shaded woman did not know of Inferni's exact policies -- she had never bothered to learn them -- but she knew enough to know these children would not have a place there if they wanted one. There was relative safety if she did allow them knowledge of Inferni and the Lykois, and everything else about herself. Inferni would reject them outright -- it would not be forced to tolerate them as it had Eris herself. Without a quarter coyote to claim, these children would be outsiders and nothing more if they were to seek a place within the clan.
Whatever weaknesses her blood gave them, Larkspur's certainly strengthened it. She was not deaf to the surname itself -- it was attached to many, and the sable-shaded woman only knew a fraction of these. None had been unkind to her, though, and it was the pale-furred leader herself who had first extended to Eris the courtesy of joining this place, hybrid blood or not. The sable coywolf had no idea how apparent (or inapparent) her mixed blood really was to others. Tired as she was, she did not argue in the least with Larkspur, shifting slightly as to reach for the meat without disturbing the puppies or removing his nose from her neck. Estranged and awkward as she felt, she would not be so stubborn as to reject whatever small comforts she could find in this moment. Obliging him and her aching body both, she ate slowly and quietly, her children doing the very same.
“They should have your surname,” she said quietly, licking her muzzle clean of any leftover gore from her meal. “Except this one,” she said, touching the warm back of the brownish child. She reminded Eris of a dream or vision, she could not remember -- and the sable-shaded hybrid simply felt this was the correct thing to do. Never one to second-guess instinct, she made this thought known to him readily. None would carry the Lykoi surname -- it would not fit them in a place such as this, and she did not wish for them to carry it and its stigma. They would blend in here, they would belong here as D'Angelos, and this girl -- she would inherit whatever legacy Salvaged still had, whatever legacy Eris carved for her. There were none who shared that surname but Eris and this girl anymore, and only a ghost of a man had once held it.
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