Dawnlark Plains the imp of the perverse

following her gathering of the Rise's Toweards—all but one—she left the plateau and moved down into the plains, seeking said One.

his scent lingers here, and in the maplewood; as her pups have grown, her wandering for prey has increased, and she's smelled him. 

never has confronted. . .until now.

@Atreus is clearly talented, for all his pique. the blood of warriors and hunters surges through his veins. she wants to mold him in the absence of his mother and the scarcity of his father; she wants to create a diamond from the rough.

she can, and she will, damn it.

Avicus howls for her nephew, the gusty, chilly winds of autumn sending her fiery pelt ruffling every whichway.

He lingered in the place where he’d bumped into his brother, warming himself on the memory like a man holding his hands over a campfire. Atreus spent his time trying to catch voles, though after a while, he decided such small prey wasn’t worth the effort.

He went looking for rabbits instead, sniffing through the drying autumn grasses until he caught a familiar scent. Knew it, the boy mumbled, setting about locating the entrances and exits to their warren.

When it came to catching one, Atreus was stumped. He needed a barker. He looked around as if an assistant might magically materialize. He was just about to call for Ancelin when a voice cut through the air, calling for him quite imperiously.

He turned into the wind and squinted. That wasn’t his father’s voice. It must be his aunt. Nothing good could come from such a rendezvous. Atreus was tempted to ignore it outright.

But instinct—and more than a little morbid curiosity—sent him slinking forward to heed her call.

the two meet upon the sloping plains, one burning, one dark. but each of them carrying the legacy of Merrick and his blackbird.

her indigo eyes light upon him, nostrils flaring to catch his scent.

he's been hunting.

why you nohh' come home? Avicus asks without preamble. he's been away; she's not ignorant to it, nor has she sought to stop the intransigence. he's been close enough.

but he must return.

She fired a question at him. He was surprised she’d noticed, though it figured that the first person who did would yell at him for it. Then again, the Wealda hadn’t raised her voice, yet.

Because nobody wants me, Atreus replied, defensive and honest in painful measure.

he gives an answer that sparks dissonance within her. Avicus wants to immediately reassure him, to invite him back into the fold—but she also knows that his recalcitrance has not made friends. he's not right; he's not wrong.

and she stands for a moment, tongue-tied, wondering what to say next.

why you 'hhink 'hat? she finally asks, literally held back by her tongue as the last bit of it slurs through her lips. but her gaze has softened as she stares at her nephew, and she hopes he knows what she inquires.

she had once made mistakes. 

her parents had chosen Aventus over her after their great fight.

things can be mended. time heals all wounds, save the mortal ones.

He kind of expected her to refute his claim or maybe even tell him he was being insolent. Atreus gulped, bracing himself for the inevitable consequences of his candor. But his aunt only pressed him, asking him to explain why he felt the way he did.

He pulled a face. Not once in his life had anybody but Ancelin bothered to show him the slightest bit of affection. The only people who’d ever seemed to want him otherwise were strangers like Void and Amalia. His mother had left, his father was distant and even the woman standing before him hadn’t reached out to him until now. He would never forget what her daughter had done to him either.

Because it’s the truth, he replied, aware that he was playing with fire and would surely trip a wire if he kept speaking his mind.

no, she shoots back. he hasn't given a reason, so she's been given nothing to chew on. and truth was never objective; one wolf's reality was another's fiction.

in any case, she isn't in the mood for a boy's sour attitude.

you muhh' come home, Avicus continues, voice growing more steely. you are parhh' of our packgh, of'uhh Rise. you muhh' provide, like your fah'her. your broh'her.

your cousins. but she leaves it unsaid, knowing full well the enmity Masquerade's attack had created.

Her coldness proved his point, though Atreus hardly took any comfort in being right. Even as Avicus commanded him to come home—not because she wanted him there as her nephew but simply to serve a pack he had come to hate—he realized he’d graduated from purgatory into hell.

No, he replied in the same tone she’d just used on him.

Atreus took a step backward, prepared for her to lash out at him for his insolence. He wasn’t sorry—except, perhaps, about his brother—but he also wasn’t stupid. He knew he should probably just get the hell out of dodge, though he stayed still for the moment just to see if she’d fulfill Atreus’s little prophecy.

an echo of her first word. defiant.

Avicus moves forward, gaze hard upon the young man's face. i'm nohh' ahh'king.

that clipped sentence, and then: your fah'her needh' you. he want you 'hhere.

her relationship with Aventus had always been contentious. even now, with peace between them, it is strained. but perhaps he and Ancelin have a different bond.

your broh'her needh you.

her face is insistent, boring into his own.

Atreus’s face twitched. His family didn’t want him but they did need him, according to Aunt Avicus. She didn’t give a rat’s ass how he felt. None of them did, except perhaps for Ancelin. His heart twinged as he thought of his brother.

He glared right back at her, heart pounding, and said nothing. She didn’t want Atreus, her nephew, to come home. She just wanted another subordinate to fall in line and do what he was told. Atreus refused to bow his head or his will to someone who couldn’t be bothered to offer anything in return, not even a single gesture of familiar warmth that would cost her nothing.

he's right. she wanted another subordinate to come home.

but it's deeper. this was the first defection she'd experienced, and god knew she'd handle it well.

she lunges toward his flank, attempting to herd him back toward the Rise. her teeth snap at his flank, voice raised:

GO. HOME.

she will not let him go gentle into that good night.

force is all she knows, and if she drives him away for good—

that's her brother's problem.

NOW, she demands, rounding upon him, head high, her indigo gaze blazing.

NO!

He saw the lunge coming and darted sideways, just managing to avoid the graze of her teeth. Atreus’s heart jumped into his throat as he then scrambled backward, hoping to put enough distance between them to safely turn and make a run for it.

LEAVE ME ALONE! he shouted for good measure.

she grits her teeth and looks at the boy—

she ought to. . .punish him. . .

Avicus thinks of the bad blood between her and his father and it swirls in the air before her and she thinks. . .

live and let—

fuck

AH'REUS! she bellows, her hoarse voice rippling over the plains.

she fixes her indigo gaze upon the retreating boy and shouts, WE—NEEDH—YOU.

Defiance quickly gave way to real fear when Avicus bellowed at him. There was no contest between fight or flight. He didn’t even think. He was just running, legs pumping  with all his might and heart thundering in his small chest.

He didn’t just fear her teeth or her wrath. Scariest of all was being forced to live at the rise, unhappy, unloved and unwanted. Atreus would rather face the wilderness alone.

she can't catch him. she watches his shadowy figure retreat, chest heaving, heart pounding.

oh, God.

she's lost her nephew. her brother's son.

what could she say? what can she do?

Avicus turns, nearly hyperventilating, walking quick back toward the Rise. she thinks of all the things she could say to Aventus and all of them fall short.

she's lost Atreus.

she'll lose Aventus.

she'll lose the Rise.

she stumbles to her knees, struggling to breathe.

she's lost Aventus