and the lamp-light o’er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor
Sparrow settled down on the cave floor, and Vesper found herself glad that she’d loosened up a bit. She hated to see her sister timid, both because of her guilt that she’d had a hand in it, and disgust that she was still weak. It didn’t show, but the negative emotion was still there, still lingering in the back of her mind—making her all the guiltier. She wished she could change, since she’d had no problem changing in all the other ways when she joined the fire clan.
Maybe in time, they would truly be able to forgive each other. She knew that time was coming closer and closer with every moment that they talked, and her dark-tipped tail swished across the stuffed hide as she watched her sibling oddly, blue eyes tracing the contours of her wolfish face and petite body. It still amazed her that this was her sister.
She nodded at Sparrow’s observations of the clan’s natural preparation. Really, the senior Inferni members made her feel like a child in comparison. They had taught her that she wasn’t deserving of her cocky attitude quite yet, mostly through the bruises they gave her while sparring.
Her thoughts all trickled away when her sibling prodded her for a name, and Ves cursed herself as she realized she was making a bigger deal of this than she should. If it wasn’t obvious from her pause, her response was making it so. It wasn’t as if she’d suddenly gained a mate or something while Sparrow was away; her friendship with the Tears woman was true, but her so-called courtship clumsy at best. Then again, other than a few flings with womanly strangers, she hadn’t actually been in a serious relationship since Juniper, and that was when she was nothing more than a swaggering teen. She flattened her ears again.
“Myrika,” came a croak from the corner of the den.
“Traitor,” Vesper declared, but she stretched lazily and glanced over at the raven as he bobbed his head.
“Boy liking staring at Myrika,” Stark went on shamelessly. “Too stupid doing anything else.” He quorked and flapped away in case his companion decided to tear out his feathers, landing near the entrance of the den and poking his dark head out of the flap to check on the progress of the territory’s soaking.
“Myrika is really nice,” the one-eared coywolf stated, and glanced at her sibling almost desperately. “You’ve met her, right? She’s nice, isn’t she?”
mehh three-fourths of this post is introspection
table by raze; pattern by dinpattern
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