filling jars full of silence.
#1
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Word Count » 421
<333

the world shudders as the worm gets its wings

Smoke rose from the small fire the hybrid had lit in the barren field. It sat between two old houses of the village, the more prominent place. She did not think fire was good to set in the center of Salsola's territory at night -- better she drew the attention of any would-be wrong-doers to herself. At least she might raise an alarm for the others, even if they cut her down. Eris did not know what enemies she feared in the darkness, but the sable hybrid did not doubt their existence. She might not have been able to name them, but they were there. Her chartreuse eyes narrowed, and she peered into the darkness with a peculiar coldness to them, though she could hardly see beyond the glow of the fire. Itzcitla curled next to her. He had yet to find his place here, and the hybrid felt sorry for the poor feline, having to move this place and that. She reached out to stroke him with one hand, and then returned to her work.

She split the rabbit from throat to stomach, tearing it apart with her claws. Her fingers, already reddened and dripping, plunged into the tiny chest of the animal. Though her obsidian dagger sat beside her, the hybrid felt no need to use this thing, though it was not a matter of caring for cleanliness and sterilization. The flesh was simply unworthy to require use of the dagger; it was more fit to be torn apart with the fingers. It was more primal this way, anyhow, and the hybrid felt the hum rising in her, her breath drawing faster. Itzcitla sat up, his bright golden eyes watching her with fierce curiosity, though his interest was in the meat rather than what his sable owner did.

She drew the liver from the tiny animal, remembering Misery's ritual. She could recall none of the words and few of the specifics, but it was fertility she desired of herself, and she gazed at the tiny thing with hard eyes, studying it for a moment before tossing it to the fire. It sizzled and hissed there for a moment before falling silent, and she gazed at the flames with stony eyes, wishing for nothing more than to feel a stirring in her stomach. The coyote absently tore at a strip of the rabbit's flesh and tossed it to Itzcitla, who snapped at the flesh eagerly, glad to be fed by his master for once rather tan the other way around.

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#2
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Word Count→457. Sorry for the wait, Sie! <3 This is a bleck post.

The move from the mountains to the coast had left the golden coyote feeling freer with each passing hour. She hadn't enjoyed the caves; there was no sense of family, was no sunlight and she was lost with her nephew-son in a home shared with a brother who always had a sour look on his face. In Salsola, however, she felt as if she had returned to Eterne once more, albeit a less deluded form of her birthplace. While the darkness fell to the earth, she found herself wandering the territory in silence and without company. She was not afraid of the dark, though she knew that it was in the shadows that Momotztli's touch did not reach. In her home, there was no danger. How could there be danger in a world she clung to with such devotion?

It was the scent of smoke that caused the Crone to draw her mind away from thoughts of 'home'. While she did not trust the wolves of this new mash of family, she understood the men like Larkspur were strong and were the source of the fire a trespasser, they would not have survived so long on the land. And so who was hosting a bonfire on the land of her new family? Steps toward the old village that gave illusion of their home eradicated the confusion; it was the handsome black hybrid she felt a kinship to, despite the lack of blood relation. The scent of blood tinged the smell of smoke as the golden coyote watched her green-eyed mistress feed the pretty feline.

"Aye-reese." The accented name left her jaws in a sharp twang, a greeting to the woman as she moved to a comfortable place at both the side of the fire and the dark shaman. Fiery eyes caught sight of the remains of the rabbit and black-lined lips turned upward in the faintest smile. "Did you cahtch that ahll on your own, Aye-reese?" Yes, the works held the faint mocking that she felt in her chest, but there was not the same flagrant casualty to it that she used in private with the hybrid Boss. It was only a rabbit, after all; there was better prey in the area, why not catch something larger for herself and her junglecat companion? Surely she would need to feed her children as well. After all, she had an oaf as their father. A grimace crossed her features briefly before she allowed herself to sit with the same elegantly androgynous movements that Tlantli had carried since the pirate-laden island of Barbados. "Ai, Momotztli. Todo ello a pie me va a matar algún día." She rubbed at a thigh, grunting in displeasure.

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#3
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Word Count » 519

the world shudders as the worm gets its wings

The small cat at her side, weighing no more than thirty pounds, was silent as always. Eris knew cats to be capable of speech, but she had never been able to master other canine tongues; she had no hope of attempting low speech or even the feline variant of their own speech. Her chartreuse eyes rested easily on the toothsome feline, studying the sleek sheen of his fur. Since the winter had come and gone, Itzcitla was happier. The cat was built for the warmest of weather, and the cold of Nova Scotia's winters might have killed him, if he hadn't Eris to care for him. Then again, he might not have ever traveled as far north as Canada if he had not been her pet. She reached for him, fingers absently brushing his shoulders and spine. His coat was beautiful, and if Itzcitla were any less useful or precious to her, the coal hybrid might want that coat for herself. Alone, it wouldn't have covered her hair, but with ten of Itzcitla, she might have a truly beautiful cloak or blanket.

The noise of an approach drew the coal woman's attention, and her chartreuse eyes followed the approach of Tlantli, who settled herself near the fire without so much as an invitation. The coal hybrid remained silent at this; The Crone was not quite exempt from the culture she and Sirius had crafted, but Eris would not demand so much homage from the golden-hued woman. Still, her teeth showed at the question, bared in what might have been a grin, the edges furled just slightly to show the beginnings of a wrinkle in her muzzle. She thought her inability to provide a secret; she did not imagine Sirius would have released her secrets so easily. Perhaps Tlantli did not know, and merely suspected. Eris did not pause long to consider this, but rather answered the question with a confident ease.

“It's not so hard to catch rabbits.” Truth: it was much harder to catch fish, and she had never brought down prey larger than a very plump rabbit. Ungulates and other large prey were beyond the sable woman as of yet in her training. She wondered, however faintly, if she would ever hunt larger creatures. It would be more difficult for her and Sirius to set aside time for hunting and practice now. The strange words flowed from Tlantli, and Eris looked at her blankly, not understanding. Itzcitla, however, lifted his head, and amusement seemed to dance in his yellow-green eyes. He said nothing, however; his feline gaze simply remained on Tlantli, suddenly rapt in his attention.

“What did you say? Itzci looks interested,” she ventured, eyes furtively glancing between The Crone and the smaller cat at her side. She reached at the fire, prodding it with a stick plucked from the ground beside her. Embers jumped into the night as the fire hissed and crackled its displeasure, but Eris paid them no mind, instead stirring the fire further with the stick. When she pulled it from the heat, the end of the stick blazed red-hot.

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#4
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She made no attempt to treat Eris Eternity with the same affectionate familiarity that she gave to the hybrid leader, and though she continued to feel superiority over the dark woman based about her cleaner coyote blood, she did remember her place within their family. Eris was the Queen, and Tlantli merely a handmaiden for purposes ignored by the golden Kimaris. Her jest at Eris' meager catch was not based in some unflattering knowledge, simply the fact that rabbits were a meager meal and any creature would prefer something more hearty. Eris herself seemed to agree, stating that it was not hard to catch rabbits. Tlantli rubbed at her jaw and offered a nod.

The junglecat seemed bemused by the Crone's Spanish speech and the woman laughed at his attentive gaze; Eris was oblivious, something that Tlantli attributed to her lack of general knowledge — as Eris had admitted to living within Eterne, Tlantli was sorely disappointed that the dark female did not speak the common tongue. "Aye simply said thaht ahll aft this walking will send me to maye grave." Uniquely feminine fingers combed back the short locks of her mane, fiery eyes staring into the flames as the Auxiliary pushed an arbitrary stick through the ashes. "Hare is not ae viable meal, t'you know. Somet'ing lahrger would haft fed your family." Family was, as it had been taught to her, the most important piece of the world around her.

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#5
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Word Count » 365
Not sure if right use of the word serif. 9_9 Whatevvvs.

the world shudders as the worm gets its wings

The sable-hued hybrid did not have a tongue for any language but her own. Less than apt for it, she lacked the motivation necessary to hone such skills, and thus she recognized only the sparing word of Spanish, and none of any other language. There was no reason for her to feel derisively toward tongues other than her own, as she'd never been forced to learn any other languages; instead, she gave them little regard, figuring they existed separately for a reason and giving it no other thought. It would do her well enough to be proficient in conversing in her mother tongue, which she often was not -- though she possessed no impediment to speech, the things she said could have used correction or filtering on more than one occasion.

“Ah. Maybe he worries for your old bones,” she said, her chartreuse eyes looking to Tlantli with a faint hint of amusement in them. Eris was far Tlantli's elder, nearing her fourth year -- yet it was apparent, at least in Eris's eyes, that the golden-hued woman was the more mature of the pair, whereas Eris herself possessed a reckless demeanor, and inexperienced at that. It was for that reason the coal hybrid had desired to listen to the golden woman's counsel. Sirius was the leader, and Eris was not so generous as to forsake her own power for the good of the pack, but she wasn't quite so conceited as to inflate herself to a position beyond guidance and caution. Salsola was not immortal, and neither was she.

“Larkspur makes sure the children are fed,” she said, rolling a shoulder in indifferent shrug. They were not starved nor wanting of food, Pandemic and Salvia. Wretch -- she could not say. “You are right, though,” she murmured, stabbing the still-glowing end of the stick into the dirt, stubbing it out there. “There's more family now than Larkspur, Pandemic, and Salvia.” Her chartreuse eyes did not look to Tla as she said this; instead, she sketched into the earth just outside of the fire, a faint design of simple straight lines. She thickened them and added tiny serifs on the end of the horizontal lines.

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#6
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Word Count → 403 — You definitely did. <3 Tlantli's pro-coyote/anti-Larkspur speech makes it so hard to spell check this post. >.> I apologize for any improper words.

Tlantli never stopped to think that perhaps, if she had never left Eterne, she may not have spoken the common language of her new family in Salsola. She was not a scholar, rather a theologian and warrior, and linguistics were not her forte. It was so much easier to speak with the body than learn the words of another culture. Her English came from the sailors and pirates and merchants of the disgusting streets of Barbados, and it was flawed, bogged down with the remains of a Spanish heritage. Perhaps when she returned to the ruins of Eterne, a Queen in her own right, there would be no need for the language she had learned outside of its boundaries.

She allowed herself to laugh upon Eris' declaration of the junglecat's opinion, for they both of them new that Tlantli herself was far younger than the dark hybrid, only just passing the mark into fertile womanhood; this didn't stop her from holding higher maturity, however, a maturity that didn't show as Eris began to speak on her fool of a lover. The coyote's face twisted into a golden grimace. Oh, yes, he fed the children. That was all he was useful for, brute strength — and it seemed he was useful for other things as well. Her head turned toward the dark hybrid upon the words of family. She had an entire family around her, but Tlantli felt certain she did not speak of the adults.

"Aye do not undarstahnd whaye you keep ahp with him. He ess a fool, useless. Aye cahn do jus what he cahn; it ess not hard to provide for ae fahmily. You were the daughter aft Astaroth Kimaris, Aye-reese, you should be proud aft that fact, not spending your naights lying with ahn ahnimal." Hot air was snorted out of her nose, a notion of distaste as she allowed herself to fall back upon the earth near the edges of the fire. "Lahrkspare ess not the best choice for your fahmily. Find someone smahrter, less useless; you ahre Queen nao, ahnd you still cahvorte with the peasants." Speaking of Larkspur in such a way did not bother Tlantli in the slightest, though she was unsure of how Eris would feel; Larkspur was no higher ranked than she, regardless of a relationship with the Auxiliary. The golden coyote felt superior, both intellectually and socially — her voice merely echoed this knowledge.

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#7
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Word Count → 531


The hybrid listened to her words, even the battered and broken English still mellifluous in her strange accent. Tlantli's voice was spiced with that strange place that would never quite be home again, but had been for so long. It made Eris ache inside at times, and listening to her was one of these times. It was strange, homesickness juxtaposed against aversion of the very same place. She would never see Eterne again; even if she were to depart Salsola, however unlikely, it would not be to make for Eterne again. In truth, Eris did not know where she might go if she had to leave Salsola. There was no other place in the world for her, and she would be reduced to wandering until she could again seek her own place. It would not be one of her own, however -- she would have to wear someone else's yolk again, bound to someone else's rules.

“You speak truth, but I look on my children and see no weakness. They have my heart and my head, but Larkspur's strength, too,” she said, chartreuse eyes furtively glancing to the fire. He filtered them of their coyote blood and made them stronger, made them wolves -- but she would not speak such a thing to Tlantli. They were hybrids of the opposite type; Eris was mostly wolf, and she showed it just as well. Tlantli was mostly coyote, and she believed their superiority. Eris held no opinion on the intelligence of wolf or coyote, but it seemed apparent to her the physical size and strength to be found in Larkspur's species was superior. “I would have no one else's children,” she admitted, ears folding back into the wild tangle of her mane. She would not produce litter after litter of bastard half-siblings. Her children would all be of the same blood. That was truly what she valued Larkspur for. It was not his good conversation or his companionship that she sought -- it was his seed, his ability to give her children as precious and beautiful as her three.

“Would you confirm us, if I asked?” Her rank perhaps afforded her the ability to act without Tlantli's blessing, but she would do well to heed the golden-hue coyote, Auxiliary or not. Though she might perform the same rituals, her vision would be murky, clouded by her closeness to the situation at hand, and she would risk exposing herself to the woman's public distaste, should she choose to express it. Though curious, Eris did not look to Tla for her answer; instead, her gaze seemed focused on the fire, now dwindling for lack of unburned wood, and her hand stroked Itzcitla almost nervously. Already, it would seem being ostracized was a leitmotif of her life; she had been so in Eterne, too much of a hybrid to fully integrate into their religion, and she had been so in Inferni, too wolfish and too tainted to find a place there. Perhaps even Anathema, too, although perhaps Eris had crafted her own ostracization there, expecting it to happen and so forcing it to happen. She did not wish for the same to happen here in Salsola.



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#8
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WORD COUNT→363—BONDING. I think.

She could never approve of the Auxiliary's choice in a mate, but she could respect the attempt to mother the children of a single male; even the golden coyote, raised in a place where many offspring were key to both survival as well as status, knew she would prefer children created from the efforts of a single man. Even as she looked upon Eris' family with distaste, the Eternity's made better only by the presence of the females they held, there was an appeal to the Kimaris female in seeing true family — as it stood, she had no such prospects, though she was in no hurry to be tied down. There were no options were she willing to follow in the Princess Emeritus' footsteps. For the briefest moment, she turned her face away to hide faint longing; she wold have to hurry if she wanted to make her father proud, for Imacai had left his siblings and she was certain he would take her glory first.

The request made of the Crone was both surprising and confusing; Eris had the same capabilities as the younger woman, and perhaps she understood the practices better herself. There was no reason she would have had to ask. She was the Queen of the Salsolian outcasts, the family she had carefully created, and needed no such help from others. In fact, Eris' place within the home gave her the freedom to do as she pleased, without the need of blessing or permission. And the coyote made it clear how she felt about the D'Angelo beast; so why was she asked? Her shoulders raised in a sigh, fiery eyes closing while petite features turned toward the ground. "Aye do not ahpprove aft this, ahnd aye do not believe aye evar will, but you ahre my sistar. Aye cannot say no." In Eterne, blood was the thickest bond, but Tlantli had found it in other places through her time outside of the insular civilization. Eris and Tlantli were as different as the night and day, a Queen of the shadows and Princess of the sun, but the Kimaris woman saw nothing wrong in seeing the beautiful hybrid as family.

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#9
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Word Count » 516

the world shudders as the worm gets its wings

She had never imagined herself a mother. Eris had never desired such a thing; even in youth, even as Astaroth had spun tales of their blood and its strength -- his blood, really, not hers -- she had not desired motherhood as some might have. Hybrid she was, to have bred in Eterne would have been to sully their purity. Even if she had taken a fully coyote mate, even if she had bred with that coyote to have coyote children, they would have been hybrids still -- tainted by too much wolf's blood, they would have been outsiders just as she had been.

Still, now that her children were here, Eris had come to the realization that nothing else in the world mattered. Family was all-encompassing, all-important, and she had begun to craft one of her own, the headpiece of which was her Pandemic and Salvia. There should have been three of them, but instead there was only two; the pallid girl was lost, still. Behind them, however, stood Larkspur and Sirius and Bastion and Tlantli herself, and all the rest of Salsola. This was her family now, blood or not, and its survival was vital to her.

As Tla began to speak, Eris's heart sank. It would not do to defy Tlantli's will, though she was certainly capable of it. It was not, however, a question of ability; instead, Eris was wary of the golden-hued woman's power, both that very real and very tangible power of humiliating Eris by disparaging her mateship in public, and that other power, the ability to grant them blessing. Eris and Larkspur would need as much good faith as they could muster. They damn well needed it. The woman continued, however, and Eris allowed herself momentary hope which seemed to rise like thick and chokingly sweet honey in her throat. It did not soar, but rather burst and oozed outward as The Crone agreed, though not without voicing her displeasure, too.

“Sister,” she said, both in agreement and to test the word. It tasted rather lovely on her tongue, a strange and foreign word she was not so familiar with. Her own siblings were strangers to her, hardly more than faint memories from the earliest parts of her life. Her half-siblings were even more distant. There was no connection with that family other than their blood; Eris had taken that from them, and thus absorbed both their strength and their taint, but she would pay them no respect. Her father's family consisted entirely of ghosts, some legendary and some already faded to nameless nothing. They fascinated her, but she sensed they, too, would find her nothing more than a stranger. Her father's legacy had ended, leaving only distant relatives like Sirius. Even she had no idea the fragmentation of her father's “family,” if the trail of bloodied victims could even be called such a thing.

“You honor me,” she added, murmuring this under her breath, though there was no lack of awe in it. She spoke not only of Tlantli's apparent agreement, but of the family they had become.

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#10
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WORD COUNT→403—Sorry for the wait!

The Crone had not started to feel hopelessness for her lack of progeny — after all, she was young, unlike the hybrid at her side and there would be years ahead for her to prove the blood of the Kimaris line was still bountiful. Her father, wonderful as she saw him to be, would never be capable of doing what his child siblings could. Tlantli would do what Metetztli couldn't, it would simply take time. The weight had not yet become apparent on the younger Kimaris female; her fiery eyes did not seek out the qualities necessary for breeding. She was not Eris, who had a clock ticking somewhere that would slowly wind down into nothing. Perhaps Eris needed to move so quickly. She was aging.

Androgynous hands rubbed at the muscles of her neck to relieve tension there, watching the dark woman with eyes that offered a mild form of affection. The word that was spoken by the sable-shaded female's lips caused the Crone to tilt her head, curious as to how she felt about the idea. Eris Eternity shared none of the blood of Tlantli Kimaris, but Tlantli had long learned that family was what you made it. She was the blood of Mantus Kimaris, yet she was the daughter of Metetztli. Eris was who she chose to be, a wolf in Eternian clothing, a shaman who seemed to hold respect of the younger and less experienced. Perhaps Momotztli did not give her the same gifts she once had, but the golden coyote saw herself as less than the Auxiliary counterpart. A handmaiden to a Queen. A solitary princess amongst a ruin of beautiful royalty. Salsola.

She laughed, gently and almost in apathy. "No. You honor yoursalf, Aye-reese. You ahre ae smahrt wo-man. You ahre ae strong wo-man. You haft raised ae smahrt daughtar. Were you less, aye would not think you family, but you ahre not less." Tlantli, the example of vainity and pride in oneself, draped a lazy arm over her knees and allowed her eyes to close. "Aye haft ae request aft you. For the cotona, the mahrk. Aye did not want to do it for mayesalf; it will be more if it ess done by you." She believed it to be that way, that if she received the Hand of Eris from Eris herself, it would have more meaning. "Ahnd then, we can do ae blessing. For you ahnd...Lahrkspare."

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#11
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Word Count » 425
no biggie broseph, sorry for mine :O

the world shudders as the worm gets its wings

The shadow-furred woman would be four come summer, and in some ways, she was very old. In others, she was but a child -- she lacked the maturity, patience, and foresight one her age might have attained, but still deeper parts of her were as old as the dirt on the ground and the dust in the wind. Seeing was an old art, she knew, and some deeper part of her had lived many lives before Eris Eternity. Her old blood was not quite so powerful a shade as whatever had dwelled within Haku Soul, of course -- it was so weak, it might only live when Eris called upon it. The hybrid wondered if it was enough to pass along to her children; she had yet to test Pandemic or Salvia in the ways of divination. Part of her was afraid to.

The coyote smiled, a faint and distant smile, though her eyes quickly moved away from the flame to Tlantli's face, studying the sharp, coyote angles of it. Her ears were large, her muzzle small, but she was no less powerful and no less beautiful for it. Eris refused the speciesism that had plagued her mother. There was no judging on blood alone, and the scarred woman might have learned that, with all her wolf lovers and wolf children, but Eris did not think she had. It did not matter -- that was no longer family. This was now, and this was a stronger-woven family than anything Inferni crafted.

“I am made strong and smart by you and the rest of Salsola,” the coyote said, for once demure in her acceptance of the compliment. “Salvia will be stronger and smarter still, raised in our midst,” she added, smiling very nearly dreamily at this thought. To see her daughter grow proud and powerful within the pack would be an achievement nearly as wonderful as her coronation and the foundation of Salsola. At the straw-hued woman's words, the hybrid's midnight-hued ears perked, and she nodded, tacit agreement to whatever request Tlantli might make.

“Of course,” Eris responded, warmth in her voice. She was not so practiced with this art that it would be beautiful, but the mark they had chosen was straight lines and gentle curves, far easier than a tightly curled spiral. “Should we do this now?” the sable-hued woman said, eager to begin. She did not firmly recall all that had gone into her own scarification, but Tlantli had her own scars, and they might compose the ritual together as they went, even.

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#12
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Sorry for the wait.

Eris appeared humble, and though Tlantli would never attempt to hide her vanity, she had vague admiration for the woman she called sister. The faintest traces of a golden smile touched down on the shaman's jaws, fiery eyes staring into the night around them; this was wiped away upon the words about Salvia. Tlantli was certain Salvia would grow strong, intelligent, but she wondered of the influences of those around her. "Salvia's potensial ess dahmpened baye the presence of her padre. Lahrkspare's blood could ruin her." She felt no shame in tearing apart the man's credibility in front of the dark hybrid; though Eris was his partner, Tlantli did not harbour the same family affection for the wolf as she had garnered for the rest of the brood. She tolerated hybrids — after all, she was a hybrid herself — but wolves were wolves wherever she went. Stupid, useless and incapable of feeling the touch of Momotztli. Disgraceful to their Luperci blood.

Her vague joy was renewed by the agreement of the dark witch who's voice turned warm upon acquiescence. While Tlantli had begun the markings in her own, more skilled hand, she felt it would hold more potency coming from the shadowed hands of the Auxiliary-Queen. She shrugged away the satchel that so often draped across her shoulder, giving a nod to her non-sister: "Si." The woman wanted it done as soon as was possible, for there were things to be done for Eris and the fool as well. A slender, androgynous hand tapped at the bone of her right shoulder. "Here." Where it would be easily seen in the depths of Salsola, but easily covered before wandering eyes. The process of scarification would further ascend her above the wolves — this was her only true belief taken from the delusional creatures of the Eternian caverns.

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#13
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Word Count :: 311 HOW DAAAAAAARE YOU <3


The hybrid woman offered her sister only a smile at her words, though it was one tinged by sadness. She, too, knew that Larkspur was not the ideal -- she had not chosen him first, after all. It had been the brown-shaded hybrid, the man the color of grave-dirt, with his blazing blue eyes. She had wanted him before Larkspur, and had him, she did! It had been only once that she had touched that shadow, however, and that single encounter had not been enough to plant his seed inside her, though she had so desperately hoped for it.


He was dead now, however, and her chance at him was done and over with. The shadow in him, however, was far from deceased -- she had seen it in Itachi, and Conor, too, reflected and weakened by their mothers' blood. She did not like to think of things she had been denied, however, and the sable woman was quick to shove those thoughts away, instead focusing her attention on the task at hand. It would not do to ruminate over old ghosts and missed opportunities with such a task as Tlantli asked of her.


The sable woman reached for her knife, the sharp obsidian thing glittering even with its depthless color, darker than even the night shadow extending all around them. It caught the firelight, throwing it back fiercely to keep from being tainted by the light. The hybrid held it in her hands a moment, looking down until Tlantli's honey-accented voice spoke again, directing her attention to the spot where the scar would be. Eris smiled faintly, and nodded her agreement. “Make yourself comfortable,” she directed, though not with the austerity one might issue a command. There would be pain and there would be blood; there was no reason Tlantli should have to ache for lack of comfortable seating, too.

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#14
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She could not accept the sadness that hinted in Eris' smile, for she could not understand her non-sister's choice in partner. Perhaps he had been the first to father children with the sable-hued woman, but Tlantli couldn't see why he would be the last. Eterne had shown her such things; slaves were used as broodmares for families, and the lesser creatures of her home laid claim to children of many men. Why had Eris not passed over Larkspur as others had passed over the slaves? Why did he hold more importance to be a father than they, when he was so much less? These questions couldn't be voiced to the Auxiliary, as much as Tlantli was curious.

The subject was passed over as the ritual began, and she allowed it to rest out of her mind; it would be Eris' choice in who she rested her head beside, for Eris was her own woman, and a strong one at that. The golden shaman shifted on the ground, crossing her athletic legs beneath her petite body at the woman's request. Comfortable was easy for her. Fiery eyes gazed into the pits of the fire before her and all was cleared from her head. She knew scars, for she had many gracing her muscles, and she knew what the process would entail. Blood. Pain. Time. But comfort was easy to achieve, and perhaps it was that she rather enjoyed the feel of a blade severing tissue that made it so easy to undergo the process.

A deep breath filled her lungs before being expelled into the air. "Aye ahm ready."

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#15
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Word Count :: 422 o look the knife? x:


The hybrid settled behind her packmate, her gaze upon that spot Tlantli had indicated moments prior. She said nothing as the other canine spoke, merely laid her hand against the spot where it would be. There were no words to speak, no chants or incantations to mark the rite that the coal woman knew of. Her thoughts, all the same, fell blankly away and she focused her intent on that hand, that spot, wishing to sear her protection into it. The knife was in her other hand, held loosely and deftly, still for the moment. She drew her hand back, and the blade sliced into fur, hacking it away as not to impede with the process. It would be painless now, but when it began to grow back, she would have to cut it again in order to access the wound, and it would not be so painless then.

Her mind was focused on the old woman, the one who had scarred her shoulder. Her eyes had been dimmed with cataracts, but her hands were swift and they had not erred over the long weeks Eris visited her. The coyote wondered if she would be so lucky, a novice. Maybe the hundredth time she cut someone, but not this time. In preparation, she had caught a rabbit and skinned it bare, leaving the flesh intact to slice and cut with one of Molcaxitl's cooking knives. That had been a metal knife, though, and this was a stone blade. Familiar as it was in her hand, she hadn't cut living canine flesh with it before.

She positioned the dagger over the woman's skin, sliding the sharpened edge into her flesh. A thick line of red welled up beneath it, oozing over the matte black of the knife. It seemed darker there, as if the obsidian took away some of the color, but the coyote woman was quick to flick most of the blood away and toward the fire, slicing again into the coyote woman's flesh. The lines were simple, the design sealed into the hybrid's mind. In a shorter time than the coyote woman would have believed, they were all there, welling liquid red and seeping into the golden-yellow fur beneath. The hybrid pressed her free paw over the wound, adding her pressure over it. She would have cloth next time, and herbs, too. For now, this rough sort of thing would do -- it was not truly the method or the aftercare, but the symbol that mattered.

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#16
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This. Is really short. And really, really bad. But yay for almost being done, because then I can apply for my co-rank. YAY, CO-RANKS.

The pain was nothing. Her mind drifted into another world as the dagger used by the Auxiliary slid easily into coyote flesh, marking her as family within the confines of Salsola. In its own way, in its own twisted form, it was enjoyable. No grimace came to golden features, no fear, no hate, nothing but passive acceptance of the moment. Each line was simple enough, straight and easy for the hands of even an unskilled artist. The scent on blood on the air churned her stomach only for a moment. And then, as quickly as it was started, it was finished, the pressure of the woman's hand to pause the flow of blood bringing Tlantli back to the reality of the situation. Pain flared up about the wound.

"Good." Her assurance that Eris had done well wasn't so blatant as it might have been, for Eris had surely done such procedures on her own in the past just as Tlantli had. She pulled herself from the grasp of the woman, searching the fire pit for ash while her back remained turned to the Auxiliary. "Aye ahm not sure who will ahlso need this; aye haft done some, not all." A handful of ash was promptly rubbed into the still-open wound, eliciting a choked-off groan of discomfort while the warm residue was transformed into bloody, dark ink that permeated the mark.

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#17
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Shush you liar you! Sad We can wrap up here or after your post, up to you. :3 And just PM when good for co-ranky? 8D <3 YAY CORANKS


Tlantli disengaged herself from the sable-shaded woman quickly enough, and Eris's chartreuse gaze watched as she stood, surprising Eris by rubbing ash into the wound. It would stain it dark -- but then again, Tlantli was light in coloration, and darkness would show better on her fur. The Auxiliary herself preferred naked scars, though she had entertained the idea of color -- Alae had shown a pretty design of gentle colors, more faint hues than vivid stains, and the coal Auxiliary had quite liked the look of it.

You can use this, if you don't have your own blade, the sable woman offered quietly. It had traveled a long way, and it was not truly hers, not anymore. It had passed through many hands, and in all likelihood mishandled by some of them. The blade itself, however, did not matter -- only the marks it inflicted and the hand that delivered them. She watched Tlantli with a faint smile on her muzzle, chartreuse eyes brimming contentment.

Thank you for your service to Salsola, she said, perhaps too warmly -- Sirius would have delivered such a compliment with all the guarded regality of proper leadership, but the sable hued woman had never been quite good at rigidity.

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#18
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Probably fade out here so they can do other things?

As the ash seeped in, she studied the mark more closely — the dark stain was the first she had ever applied to her body, with the spirals and snakes and suns that marked her in a nude state. She expected complications, but felt lucky enough that she was intelligent in the ways of caring for a mark that she wouldn't have as many problems as any other might. A smile graced her golden lips for only a moment before sinking back beneath the surface of her jaws, head turning to study what was offered to her by the dark woman. She shook her head quickly: "No, aye haft maye own." A bone blade, carved with the hands of the Crone rather than a craftsman, and blessed under the Sun god she chose to stick with.

The thanks she received from the Auxiliary was surprising to the Kimaris, warm words ringing in her ears. Her features crinkled up in vague confusion — why was she being thanked for such trivial things as receiving a scar? It was the mark itself that was not trivial, but the action had been preformed on the body of the coyote many times in the past. Regardless, she offered her non-sister a faint smile. "It was not'ing. Now, it ess time to deal with...your decision." The decision that Eris was making disgusted the smaller woman, but she would go along with it for the sake of her sister.

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