(567) mamaaa. 8D[/html]
It felt odd to sleep by herself. She had realized on the second night that there was never a time in her life where she went to lay alone. Omitl was there in the Ruins with her though, like as every night ever since she could remember, a tight, warm ball of fur pressed against her stomach. But, that was different case that didn't ease the little pang of loneliness. She yearned for canine company--the still kind of warm nights felt cold and empty without being near someone familiar, keeping away mischievous creatures and specters she would imagine emerging from the darkness.
But, she stubbornly preserved. Maybe it was a part of growing up, she supposed. After all, Eris did not offer her home--Harrow's first home, the one that mattered more than the other places she went--and the girl decidedly did not ask. She was aged, no longer a pup, but a young woman. Yet, did she not still cling to the stuffed rabbit? She avoided it's little cubby hole it was placed in, more or less putting off the duty to clean it and on the fence about asking a slave to do it for her, but on the first night, she slept with the muddy thing she dropped forsakenly close to her chest. She could try to rise to her expectations as an adult of the family, but there were still tendrils of warm, inviting tendancies she did not want to let go of, familiarity luring her in and trapping her. Maybe the woman wasn't truly a woman yet after all.
When she woke, the air was how she felt when she noticed she was alone again--cool and distant. How fitting it was, she thought absentmindedly. Omitl stirred when she rose, and crawled into her lap, the she-cat wanting to keep the comfortable warmth the dark girl gave. "Morning, Harrow," the lynx purred, as if sensing her vagueness. The hybrid was quiet, and just smoothed her head in response. She only barely remembered it during her first year of life, but she knew that the third season was coming upon them. Summer days were gone, chased away by the sibling's somewhat chilling fingers. Yet, there was still that edge of warmth that would come with the sun, when it was to rise.
She stepped out of the ruin she had been spending time in--perhaps she would make it her own, but it did not feel like "home" yet. It was near to her mother's, and Harrow guessed that was what the best she could do. The distance, short as it was, still made her uneasy. A scent came upon her, and a wide smile spread across her face, and as she quickly shouldered the small bag that still contained what merger things she had and made a bee's line for it; it smelled masked, some pungent stuff muddled with it, but nevertheless it was her. Omitl trailed behind her lazily, her own gait not as hurried as the girl's. "Mama," she automatically called, her quiet voice laced with excitment, when she knew she was somewhere near. Startling eyes finally found the dark fur, and Harrow hesitated; she was a lowly associate, and she, the Crone--to think of her not as Auxiliray made faint emotions stir in her. She was not sure if the hug she wanted to badly to give would be unacceptable, or what.
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