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Arachnea's Revenge, AW.
It had already been a month and a half since the fire. The minor burns he'd sustained had peeled and healed over, and the smoke had cleared from his throat and lungs. The scents of the past had faded from his body, and there was nothing left of Clouded Tears anymore. In its place, he inhaled the smell of the Dampwoods when he breathed. In all the time he had spent on this other side of the mountain, he had yet to really venture far from where he had been carried. Laruku had circled and paced and prodded the quiet corners of that territory, and now, maybe he could say he knew it pretty damn well, but he hadn't tried all that hard to commit anything to memory and still felt restlessly detached from it. This wasn't home. He wasn't sure he wanted it to be, and as long as he didn't, it wouldn't be.
Today, in the late afternoon, he found himself further west than he'd ever gone before. It had been an accident, really, but he supposed it didn't really matter how far he ended up wandering. Maybe this meant he had a higher chance of running into the packwolves that had gathered and established themselves already -- maybe this meant that he would run into someone else he had known, however briefly, on the other side of the mountain. It didn't matter. He had nothing to lose anymore and nothing could change more dramatically than it already had. What did he have to fear from finally striking out past the little stretch of woods he'd confined himself to?
The tattered hybrid wandered slowly and aimlessly through the woods, looking at nothing in particular and going no where in particular. No hope, no fear.
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It was by pure luck she caught his scent on the wind. Quit honestly in the last month her hybrid cousin had slipped her mind. For a while she had wondered if he had made it out or not, yet had been unable to grieve or fear as she didn’t know the truth and believed it to be a waste of emotion if she didn’t know for sure. However the curiosity she had, had faded, as the yearling busied herself with the job of leading a pack and acquainting herself with the new lands, new pack members, and all the new events that had occurred since fleeing the fire. Truly it had been a month, more even, yet the time passed so quickly for the female, she had scarcely noticed how long it had been, until she smelt him. Laruku.
Cercelee had simply wanted some air, and the air within Dahlia de Mai had seemed far too stale. The female knew it was in her mind, but the scene of Haku and Colibri seemed to linger, to sour the air, and the rosea had spent the days since away from the pack, thinking over what had occurred between mother and son. And wondering still why Haku had returned without Coli. And whether Haku was really going to stay, and if he did, what of Colibri then? It was the first time in a long time so many worries occupied her mind at once, normally she would just let them go. And if they didn’t go on their own, she would push them out. Yet now that the pack depended on her, she would give them a bit of time to mull them over, yet the scent she caught was a distraction, but not an unwelcome one.
Following the scent she eventually got sight of the male. Seemingly just to wander, as she was now. Her gait, which had been quick pace moment before, became slow but determined as she made her way towards him, and once she was sure he caught sight of her as well she bowed her head at him. Whether he wanted it or not, Laruku would probably always have her respect, and although she rejected her family he was one of the few she counted among her blood. Perhaps both qualities were ingrained from the time she had spent with him as a child, ideas and beliefs impressed upon her brain when she was most moldable. Cercelee did not question them though, she merely smiled at the male and waited for him to speak first.
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It was funny sometimes just how eeriely quiet things were there. There was nothing in the forest to interest him. No familiar scents. No familiar landmarks. No memories. No people. The birds and small animals rustling in the underbrush may as well have been silent because he didn't notice them. There was nothing. Absolutely nothing. Even the inside of his skull had been strangely silent as of late. There was no cackling laughter and no snide remarks from the snarky little monster that lived there. Just silence. And he had nothing to fill that silence with. He didn't think about anything. He didn't reminisce about what was gone, and he didn't think about the future beyond the next step he was taking, if even that. It was such an empty existence.
He saw her. It took him a while to rummage through his tattered memories, but he managed to find her face and her name there. Family. One of so many distant relatives he'd met over the years. One of so many that had come and gone from the pack he used to lead. Cercelee, he acknowledged, stopping where he stood and blinking almost stupidly at her. It might have been surprising that he hadn't called her Ceres for surely now, the girl looked just like her grandmother had. It seemed to take an eternity for his mind to comprehend anything beyond her name and who she was. The scent of her newfound pack drifted slowly to him. What was he supposed to say? What was he supposed to talk or ask about?
As an alpha, he might have had things he was obligated to ask and know about. What did he have now? What was he supposed to care about? He knew she was okay. He could see that. So what else was important? Her life? The details? He would only forget them as soon as she turned to leave, so what did that matter? He was useless here, knowing nothing because he remembered nothing. Because he allowed himself to remember nothing. Running a pack now, I see, he settled on finally, voice simple and soft. It wasn't really a question, but he didn't know what else to say.
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It was no surprise. Laruku greeted her with a casualness that might have been insulting to some, but Cercelee just smiled at him, half glad to see him again and half sad to see he still didn’t seem all too happy. Even as a small child she had seen that, had asked him if he was happy. The female couldn’t remember his exact words from a year ago, but she remembered even then she did not believe him. He hadn’t seemed content, and he didn’t now. He didn’t seem full. Complete. Still he was Laruku, and that was enough. As long as he remained alive and himself, that was all Cercelee looked for. If she expected something more than that, surely she would be disappointed.
Well, yes. It’s nothing really. Just a group of us that decided to stick together after the fire, and Colibri, a female I ran into, needed someone to rule beside her. She picked me. Cer shrugged. In all honestly, aside from being with Colibri from the start of the “pack” Cer had no idea why Colibri had wanted her. Compared to Slay and Hanna, Cercelee was young, inexperienced, and her head was stuck in the clouds more often than there’s. Yet none of them argued the decision, so neither did Cer. Colibri is Coli’s grandmother... coincidences, eh? Laruku probably already knew that information, and it was useless information at that, but Cercelee still marveled at how easily they ran into people linked to themselves. As if it was all planned.
For a moment she contemplated what next to say. It would be expect for her to ask how he was, where he was stay if anywhere, and a child’s voice wanted to interject with the redundant question if he was happy yet. She needn’t ask any of that. Looking at him was answer enough. Instead she could only speak the next words that came to mind. I ran into Iskata. Argued with her actually, our first meeting. She said that I reminded her of you though. Her navy eyes bore into those of Laruku’s. Water and blood.
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He was surprised to hear Colibri's name, but it didn't show. There was no twitch of the tail or of a tattered ear; he didn't even blink. Just another ghost from the past, just another someone who came and went because they didn't really need him in the end. All he'd been was a figurehead. It took him a while to remember that there had been a second Colibri, the child of a child -- another leaf off the tangled branches of their family tree. None of them stuck around long; it was a wonder that he recalled at all. Colibri had been my adoptive mother, the hybrid told the girl (or, he supposed that she was a woman now) for no real reason. He hadn't thought about her for a long time. Not really a coincidence, he continued, Your family's everywhere. His family too, maybe, but he'd never thought so.
Laruku looked back at Cercelee and his expression changed at her latter words. A frown. A sad, little frown. I hope you don't remind anyone of me, he said quietly, because that was never a positive comparison. Anything he'd ever done, he'd done it wrong, and he hated the idea that anyone else would lead a life even remotely similar. It was why he could hardly stand to face his own misbegotten children. It was why it had always been so hard to pretend to take care of all of his cousins' children. Deep down, he had to wonder if somehow he had corrupted them all. Even now, maybe he was poisoning her by looking at her. Iskata is hard to get along with most of the time, he added, closing his eyes briefly, I guess that's just how she is.
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Cercelee flicked her ears, not in irritation but as a habit. Colibri isn’t my family though. It was true enough, they did not share blood. Coli had been the grandchild of Cer’s uncle, Lisichka, Colibri his mate. Cer barely recognized relatives by blood, and rarely admitted that she was related to any of them, she was not willing to extend the already too large family. Besides, Laruku had said that her family was everywhere, but they were his too. Most of them. Cercelee wouldn’t argue it though, as she wouldn’t argue that they weren’t her family. The young wolf was not up for arguments today, not with Laruku. I didn’t know that she was your mother though, more coincidences I guess. Although Laruku had corrected her once that they were not coincidences, they were to her. In her world they were all strangers, and the fact that they were intertwined was weird to her.
The rosea couldn’t help but smile at his comment, no matter how sadly he had said it. No matter how much he had meant it. I don’t mind that I remind Iskata of you though. I may not know you well, but I know you enough to know you’re not the worse person I could take after. Besides, out of everyone who took me in when I was younger, I think I’d rather be like you than the rest of them. They all had their good sides, but they all had their flaws as well. It was just a matter of whose flaws stuck out least to Cer, and Laruku had done the best job at hiding them from her. Adrastos was a coward, Haku was certifiably insane. Laruku might be both those too, but Cer never saw it, and she would take being empty and sad over the other two. Yet she knew she wasn’t really Laruku, she wasn’t empty. And she wasn’t sad. She wasn’t wandering. She was just herself, but who saw that but her? Who would look at her and not place a relative name to her appearance, to her personality? I don’t think she meant it though. I think from what her and I spoke about, Iskata just cares too much, and she wants us to care as well. And we don’t. About family. Cer almost added that, but she didn’t think she had to.
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I guess that's true, he said of Cercelee's assertion. It was strange for him to hear her call Colibri his mother though, as he hadn't thought of her as such for several years now. All the same, he no longer tried to deny that she had a connection to him and had played some significant role as a parent in the few months after he'd been born. As his cousin's child continued to speak, Laruku found that he could understand why Iskata had drawn the comparison between the younger Sadira (whether she recognized that or not) and himself. Family had always been a controversial and emotional subject and even now, though he acknowledged the fact that Iskata was his cousin and that all of his cousin's children were related to him, the hybrid did not consider himself really a member of that family. He was not a Sadira. He belonged on the other side of the tree with his dead mother and her brother. And he was alone there.
The coyotewolf could have contested the girl's claim that he was not the worse of all the others she had known, but he could see how and why she'd come to that conclusion based on what she knew and he wasn't ready to explain the details of exactly why he would have to disagree with her. No one really knew all the details. Maybe not even those that had been directly involved (did he know that Phasma was dead already?). Maybe no one ever would.
Laruku found himself giving Cercelee the same small, weak half-smile that he'd given his cousin. She does care too much. Always has. Maybe it's not such a bad thing. It gives her a reason to be alive, doesn't it? Maybe we should care. But it was just so goddamn hard to anymore. He had cared before. He had cared a lot too. He had cared so much that it had almost killed him three, four, five times over. And now, he was just too sore and too tired to anymore. Caring was hard. Living was hard. He didn't know how he still did it.
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His answer surprised her. Maybe they should care? Maybe that was true, but she hadn’t expected it out of Laruku’s mouth. Why? The question was on the tip of her tongue, but Cercelee swallowed it. Of course there were reasons to care, but none of them applied to her own life, her own purpose. Why bend herself this way and that because it was expected of her to care about family? I have other things to care about. I don’t think I need to spend anymore time thinking about them than I do. Which admittedly was not much, only when she ran into them, and only when they pointed it out to her that they were indeed related. Why does it matter that we share some of the same genetics? That doesn’t mean we have to be close, it only means that we inherited the same flaws. Why care about that? Maybe it was a cynical view, but there it was, and it made more sense than any other way of thinking about Cercelee came up with.
Perhaps it was Adrastos fault. He had never shown any inclination for loving his extended family. Her father had shown well enough that he loved his children and his mate, but had never even mentioned that he had any other family until he dumped her with Laruku. Yet, Cercelee knew from her name, and her brothers, he had thought about his family, he had missed them, but maybe he too didn’t think of himself as a Sadira. He hadn’t carried the Sadira title, yet he hadn’t carried his father’s title either. He had not passed either name to his children, but the blood of Ceres and Daituki ran in his veins, and her’s, equally. Why Sadira and not her grandfather’s sire name? She didn’t even know what that was. What was my grandfather’s full name? Did he have one?
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*fails at life*
Try as he may, nowadays, the hybrid spent a lot of his time thinking or dreaming, or half-lost in memories that may or may not have been real. Sometimes, he wondered how things might have been different if he had not so adamantly removed himself from the rest of the family tree. Maybe he would have been happier thinking that he actually belonged somewhere, especially considering the abandonment issues he had carried for so long. And maybe if he had been happier in general, other things could have been different. Maybe he could have forgiven more easily, and maybe things would have worked out in the end. They were a thousand maybes strung together with a thousand other ways things could have gone wrong, but while he didn't actually believe in any of the alternatives, he seemed to still fantasize about them now and again.
It's good you have other things to care about, he mused quietly, As long as there's always something. The hybrid sat down and considered the second question, Sharing the same flaws can certainly be the basis for something. Misery loves company, after all, so why not consider those similar to yourself. Besides, if family really cared so damn much about them, there was always the guilt that came with not caring back. He still had that guilt, even though it was pointless to deny that he did indeed actually care more than he usually showed. Iskata tried so hard, but he always turned away. It left him hollow inside sometimes, but he had grown to accept that too.
Daituki Nasphrite, Laruku answered without thinking to remember the name. It was among those memories that he didn't pursue much anymore, all those little details of Clouded Tears' past that had burned up in the little history book he'd written. All those things Siondaite had told him once upon a time, and Ceres as well. Daituki Nasphrite was his uncle, his mother's brother, and though he'd been told they had never been close, no one had ever said why. It was through that one flimsy relationship then, that his connection to the Sadiras rested. He died saving your father, he added, once more speaking without searching for the corresponding knowledge or memories. He couldn't remember who had told him that, if anyone. Maybe he was just spouting nonsense now.
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Cercelee was not one to feel guilt at not caring back, no matter how much one cared for her. And she was not hurt when she cared for someone and they did not care back. It was just the way the world spun or the ball bounced and she had no control over any of that. What happened, happened, and Cer would just accept what came at her. She couldn’t force herself to care, so why feel bad about something that should be, but was not? However, that did not mean that she couldn’t change her ways. One day, she might grow to love her family as family, and perhaps the words Iskata had spoken at her would ring true, but for now that was a distant possibility. And at the moment she was more apt to take Laruku’s word and think about them, than she was Iskata. Iskata had been but a stranger to her, family maybe, but a stranger all the same. Laruku had taken her in when her father had abandoned her and her whole world had come crashing down. That counted for much more, despite them both being family, and Iskata’s blood being even closer than Laruku’s. Still, though she would consider his words with more weight than she had Iskata’s, that did not mean she would agree to them.
Did she even share the same flaws as any of them? Cercelee didn’t know them well enough to know what their shared genetics had given her and the rest of her family. The only family she had even been compared to was Ceres, whom she had not met and meant nothing to her, and Laruku, which had been Iskata’s opinion and did not count for much in Cer’s mind. Did her and Mew have anything in common, as they were also cousins? Or perhaps her and Haku? And if she shared anything with Haku was it because they were family or because he had also helped to raise her? Maybe she was doing herself a disservice not getting to know the many relative that ran about. Or maybe those whom she had shared anything with had died long ago with her mother, and she wouldn’t ever see them again except for when she slept. They had been her family, and they were the ones she longed for at times, her brothers.
The subject was officially changed, at least in Cercelee’s mind, to her grandfather. The bit of information that came from Laruku surprised her, although it probably shouldn’t have. Daituki died for his son. Which explained her brother’s name. Adrastos had named her for Ceres, whom had given him life, and Tuki for Daituki, whom had given her another chance at life. She wondered if Tuki had lived if anyone would look at him and compare him to their grandfather, and if he would resent it as much as she resented being compared to their grandmother. “He sounds like he was a good person, do you know anything else about him?” Cercelee knew that Laruku didn’t much care for this line of conversation, questions about dead family, and it was one they often landed on not having much else in common, but Cercelee had no one else to ask, and who knew when she’d see Laruku next to ask him.
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Laruku did not mind being a history book, especially now that the real one he'd written was gone. The family was scattered, dead, forgotten, lost. Regardless of whether or not he considered it to be a merit, he knew he had been the only member that had stayed within the foggy borders for the last two and a half years, and thus, he knew he was the only one still alive and in the area that knew a lot of the details and secrets of the past. He didn't think about them much, but they would always be there. It was perhaps the only thing the hybrid would consider himself good for now, and now that the topic had been brought up again, he wondered if he should venture to try and write it all down again before he really did finally die. Clouded Tears was gone, but though he still carried a fierce loyalty and love for his birthplace, he wondered if it the world really needed to know about what had once been there.
And vaguely, he wondered if the curse was gone.
Not really, he said of Daituki, He was already gone by the time I'd returned to Clouded Tears as a yearling. The coyotewolf knew he had spoken to Cercelee about their family before, but those sad conversations did not surface readily in his now hole-ridden memory. They were still there, as most things were, but hard to reach, seemingly irrelevant. It didn't matter. The facts themselves that made up the conversation were there, and he would not mind repeating them. He was my mother's -- my real mother's -- brother. They apparently didn't get along, but no one's ever told me why. It was probably a good thing though, that Laruku didn't know why. There was probably no one left alive who knew the truth, and thus, Daituki Nasphrite would be remembered as a vague, but kind ghost. Despite all the things he'd done, he would be remembered by a few people as a good person. If Laruku knew, he might have wondered how he would be remembered in the end.
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Laruku was out of answers. He had only repeated what he had told her when she was a child, she should have known that Laruku hadn’t been around to know Daituki, but she had forgotten. There was far too much to think about to remember such trivial matters anyway. If she really wanted to know her grandfather, she could have asked her father, could still ask him for she knew in her heart he was alive somewhere, but the curiosity did not triumph her wish to avoid Adrastos. And even if she did wish to see him again, he was probably still too hurt and scorn to show him face. “It’s best that you don’t fill my head with ideas about him anyway, no one is really the same as anyone else thinks.” That was true enough. Daituki might have been some sort of a demon, and that’s why Laruku’s mother did not get along with him, or he might have been the saint that Cercelee’s father thought of him, but demon or saint he was just Daituki and he probably had sides to him that no one had ever known. They all had their hidden selves, and other people’s memories could never uncover those, no matter how hard one tried.
Cer stretched out her limbs and resettled herself, navy eyes looking over Laruku again. It was strange to think that only months ago she had come back to him, asking if she could return, to have a place to stay, and so quickly that had been destroyed. Now she leader in her own pack, and Laruku was a loner and for a second the world seem flipped upside down. Did Laruku still think about Clouded Tears? Did he miss it or the members, or was he merely relieved to be rid of the burden? “Do you think anyone knows you all that well Laruku? Someone who will bother to remember you as you actually are?” A strange question perhaps, but Cercelee couldn’t get the idea out of her head now. Who knew her at all? What true friends did she have? And if she did would there be anyone asking about her, and whose memories would blur her true self?
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He simply nodded, half-agreeing, half still thinking that it was kind of nice that people could be remembered as better than they probably were. It was more than many people probably deserved, but it was one of those small, pleasant things about the world that made him wonder sometimes. Dreams and illusions could be real if only they were perceived to be so, and thus, truths about dead figures could be anything at all, and as long as there was someone to believe in them, they could be true. Though it was on par with what he had been thinking himself, Cercelee's question surprised him. Strangely enough though, the answer was not immediately obvious to him, though perhaps it should have been. Not thinking about him had become habitual.
It was easy to conclude that even now, it was Nirupama Tsunami that knew him best. Certainly the grey wolf knew all of his numerous faults and knew of all of his numerous sins. Perhaps he could even provide accounts of the few good things Laruku had done in his life, but the most important thing to the hybrid was that Tsunami knew all about all the terrible things he'd done. He would never be remembered as a saint. There was also Ahren to consider though, as he found it unlikely that anyone would be asking Tsunami about him, wherever he was. Ahren also knew a great number of his faults and probably understood Ryoujoku better than the grey wolf. Still, similar as they were and as close as they'd become, Laruku still saw that dividing line between the two males. It wasn't something he liked to think about much either though.
I suppose so, he replied finally, quietly. Most of the people that knew me are either gone or dead already though. Tsunami was gone. Phasma was dead. Ahren was just as half-crazy as he was. And everyone else that knew his name remained mostly ignorant; they were the ones that were most insistent on adorning him with adjectives that he did not deserve. Iskata thought too well of him, whether it was his past or present self. The former Clouded Tears members... well, none of them had ever really known him at all. And neither had Cercelee. The Laruku that most still knew was just a locked drawer of secrets that he hoped they would never know. The hybrid did not want to be remembered at all in the end.
What about you?
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Laruku had those who knew him, but he stated that they were either dead or gone. It was a depressing thought, at least to Cer, to think that if Laruku died she have no one to question. At the same time it was a comforting thought, to know that if Laruku did die or leave, there would be no one to fill her head with false images, or even worse, true images that she did not wish to know. In the end it really made no difference, because what little role anyone played in her life could easily be remembered by her and her alone, and her skewed perspective on others was more than enough. She really had no use for the truth, or a deep understanding of anyone. Memories of dead grandparents would never further her in life, and she knew that her asking was partially just a waste or time and partially just her trying to understand why others held so tightly to family, why fathers gave their children names of others that the children would never meet.
Cercelee had been prepared for the return of her question, but she had not really prepared an answer. Who knew her best? Or rather, who knew her at all? At least all of her, all together. Everyone in her life knew little pieces of her, but she didn’t think there was anyone who could fit the pieces together and make her complete, probably not even herself. Laruku knew her when she was vulnerable, a child, and then as an adult still as vulnerable as a child. Crying on his borders asking for a home, letting her insecurities and curiosity seep out now. Slay knew the child in her, forever youthful and daring and playful, and that was one side she liked to express often. Haku knew how bitter she could be, how manipulative if needed, knew that a demon that rivaled his own was stored somewhere in her depths. And there was a myriad of other characters who saw bits and pieces, who encountered her at different points in her life when she was playing a different role and they didn’t know about the other pieces. So how could anyone know her?
“No, I don’t think there is anyone. Maybe there will be someday, but right now, I don’t think so.” Cercelee stared at the dirt by her feet for a long moment. Admitting it out loud had been more difficult than knowing it in her heart. It was almost like admitting that she had no one who was a solid piece of her life, be it family, friend or even enemy. At least Laruku had had someone, even if they were dead or gone, but who did she have? “Do you think it’s important to let someone know the real you, at least once in your life, even if they don’t remember?” She asked the question and felt like a child again. A puppy asking an adult the mysteries of life, although the adult probably didn’t know any better than the child. Part of her would never quite grow up.
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Yes, he answered, undoubtedly surprising the other, but most of all, surprising himself.
Perhaps it was true after all then, that even now, all these years later, the idea of lies still did not sit well with him. Oh, he had lied, had become a liar, had put on masks and masquerades. He had thrown up a thousand walls that had to be torn down, but put up a thousand more after that. He had lied to what few friends he had had; he had lied to the family that still considered him family. And most of all, he had lied to and continued to lie to himself. And yet, he knew he had been happiest (those fleetingly brief moments of happiness) when he had been the most exposed, when he had been the most vulnerable and the most honest. He knew that the lies had been the start of the downhill spiral, that everything before that had been bearable at least. He knew where it had all gone wrong, but he also knew that it was far too late now to ever go back. He had become entrenched in the lies that he and others had spun, and even now, he was hiding from the world.
It had not been a question of love, but it was easy for Laruku to think of it as such as he had only ever been able to open himself up to people he cared deeply for. Red eyes, though still strained and tired, looked directly forward at Cercelee -- it was the most eye contact he had given anyone in a long time it seemed. Yes, I do think it's important, he repeated more softly. If you wear too many masks, you lose yourself in the end. As he had lost himself, he supposed. And after losing yourself, you lost everything else too. Maybe the idea was that if someone else knew you, all of you, they would know how to piece you back together, would know how you could return to what you were supposed to be. Laruku didn't know how to give that advice to the girl though because he knew that if he were in her place, he would not take them very seriously. But more and more, he could see why Iskata had compared her to himself, and more and more, a heavy feeling grew in his chest.
He hoped Cercelee grew out of her apathy. He hoped she did not walk any further down that path of similarities. He hoped that when she did find someone to know her, that she would not make any of his mistakes. He hoped to heaven that she never had to go through anything he had had to go through. He hoped she never turned out like him. He hating hoping.
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[html] Good time to end this? And sorry I know my table was hard to read, but I like to make people work for my posts XD
Cercelee was surprised at Laruku’s answer, having asked the question with his answer already in her mind. Cercelee had grown use to Laruku’s distance towards her, and everyone, and his apathy. She had found comfort in it, and while she would not mind if he did care for her or anyone else, she did not admonish him for not caring. The young wolf did not question why he was the way he was, or why he did not try harder. She did not mind he had not searched out for the scattered Clouded Tears members to see who lived and died. She did not share Iskata’s opinion that Laruku had to involve himself in that family that beckoned them both. What Laruku did or thought or felt was his own business, and none of it affected how Cercelee felt towards the male, she did not expect anything from this male. All the same, she had been expecting an answer quite opposite, and was surprised at him.
Even more unnerving was the look he gave her. Cercelee could not remember him looking so directly at her ever in her life. He had looked on her with something akin to sympathy and pity when she was an orphaned child, and ever since then his eyes had not found her own. And never had they seemed so honest. Cercelee felt it in his voice and in the stare he gave her, his words were a warning of sort, and one that she didn’t particularly want. If she didn’t hear it out loud, than she could go on pretending that being alone and being anyone but herself for the rest of the world was fine. She could keep wearing whatever mask she chose and being whatever type of person she felt she wished to be when she awoke, with no commitment to anyone or anything, least of all herself. Laruku was forcing her to admit to herself that it wasn’t, when she had been looking for reassurance that it was.
Breaking the eye contact, her navy eyes looked back to the dirt, her gaze fixed where she felt it belonged. Her voice took on the tone it had held when first arriving, fixed and controlled, casual and nonchalant. As if they hadn’t just discussed anything other than the weather. “Ah, well Laruku. I’m glad we’ve had this chance to speak, but I feel that perhaps I should be returning to my pack. After all, what good as a leader am I if I am not there to lead?” Cercelee bowed her head to the male and turned swiftly, knowing that Laruku knew just as well as she what she was running from.
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S'all good. Thanks for finishing this with me even though I was lame and skipped out for a month. x_x
The past, as always, seemed doomed to repeat itself through different generations, through different people, the same mistakes manifested themselves over and over again. Logic, reason, and universal fears came together in a chaotic mess of relationships, good and bad. People hid from themselves, from each other, and hurt alone, together. It didn't matter how many times they were warned. Even if they could see into the future and somehow saw visions of their future, potentially miserable selves, it seemed unlikely that anyone would change the choices they made. Would the Laruku of three years ago have done anything different if the Laruku of today had warned him? Certainly not. So of course, he could only expect the reply, or lack thereof, that Cercelee provided.
And he did care about his family and former packmates, more than he would ever care to admit to anyone, including himself. He cared that Cercelee might end up making the same foolish decisions he had, and he cared that his sons and daughter might grow up monsters like their half-siblings, like their parents. He cared that every child that had ever come under his care had run away in the end, and he cared that he had probably failed the parents, all of his cousins, that had entrusted them to him. Laruku had spent his entire life hurting and watching others hurt from his mistakes. He cared, even if most days, it was easier to pretend he had accepted everything and moved on. The guilt still weighed heavily on him when no one was looking.
Yeah, he agreed simply, and watched the femme go. Maybe, in the end, it wasn't really his business at all what she did with her life, and he really shouldn't feel responsible for her beliefs and her thoughts. Still, it was difficult to shrug away the feeling that anything bad that happened eventually was entirely preventable.
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