Broken Antler Fen klir

a buuunncchh of assumptions as apart of some indirect character exposition as well as a lil pp, lmk if i should change! i think crogeda is supposed to be 3 wks away from the teekons but bc of their little friend, skai's mental state, and probably not walking straight there it took longer

it was discarnate, rancorous.
its wartime drum in her ribs rooted itself in her ears; especially when she slept. moving with it bore a labour skairipa derived all on her own.
she was a defect. a failure. she had been for seven weeks.
the most forgiving of the cuts that had whittled down her face and neck all but disappeared under her coat. in these slowly lasping four weeks since she departed crogeda, she'd grown accustomed to peruse her reflection, her cheeks uncharacteristically full to @Polar's credit. 
the natblod's tarnished pride was drained in every watery mirror she found, all the color and glow that once enveloped her was now gargled and spat back up in furious bubbles. her image was abstracted, skairipa was arrested in a quiet deluge of ire and sadness she'd never had to weather before.
her wocha was her lighthouse master, tall and imposing, a private sun casting all his admiration and care on the deadness behind her eyes before she crashed upon the jutting rocks on the coast and died.
all her stress was evident in her taut brows and lips, her twitches and soft whining in her sleep. from a promising commander-to-be to a refugee, it was bound to send her body into a cold sweat! so all this time she'd been leaning (begrudgingly) on her wocha's shoulder, outwardly only Polar would call himself that.
to be protected by him felt good. to him, she was a but a reverent vicar who held power over another man's soul, a man who would eat her words out the palm of her hand. 
her word was biblical.
and as she recovered piece by piece, her pride hoped she would need him less and less.
her shriveled heart hoped he would always need her, selfishly. 
presently, the only thing that shone on her features was her evident disconcertment with his delicate super-faith. what kind of person? what kind of gona, would ever let another master them?
what kind of person was she, even? after her greatest disgrace, she dared to wonder again.

҉҉҉

abandoning crogeda in bad faith was a death sentence.
it sent them in an evident goose chase, they'd felt the bleeding eyes of something in the undergrowth, hidden behind a different rolling hill, staring down a sentinel cliff face, burning holes through their heads. 
as the cobwebs in her mind began to rot, she began to settle back into her harsher ways and words. she approached his resting figure, where she had left him a an hour earlier, returning as she always did after one their quarrels, always spurred on by her reckless notions. 
she had wanted to turn around and meet their little shadow problem, and as always, Polar had insisted they think it through. innumerable scars, but there were always questions when it came to her well-being. it miffed her slightly.
she stalks him now, flush with the loam, whether he was aware or not, she slugged along, her imbalance making her attempt less than graceful.
sneaking behind to the back of his head, her warmth pokes through for the briefest of brief seconds, poking his neck twice: "hei."

they'd fought.

he watched her storm off, words cloying tightly in his throat; choking him.

it's not in the wocha's nature to argue with his commander but she was healing and though he was not fleimkepa and it was not his place to offer her advice, someone had to. had to remind her that her decisions were reckless. his verbal combativeness is borne from his utter devotion to her.

he hates to be away from her, to let her barrel into the fauna of the unfamiliar territories like a living tempest imprisoned in flesh and blood.

but she needs time to cool off. and so does he.

he hears her footfalls, as familiar to him as the beat of his own heart. it is why he does not rise to swing 'round and met out the flash and bite of his teeth.

yo kep daun? it feels like a dangerous question to ask; beneath the stony exterior he keeps up, he is relieved that she is ok, that she has returned to him.

"mm. chit yu gaf?"
she glossed over their initial disagreements (as she always did), a general signifier her anger was dissipated for the moment. briefly scanning the easter island statue under her gaze, his commander feigned a disinterest to his own condition.
all the same number of scars.
she knew every cut on his feet like she knew a tiny creek feeds a great sea, she knew the tear in his ear like she knew the sun would chase away the moonlight, and she knew the odd crinkle of his eyes when he rarely beamed at her when they were yongfous like she knew all the light from the stars in the sky would hit the earth long after everything on its surface had returned to dust.
she steals herself back to reality.
"taim yu dula daun op, don osir buk au feva ..."
the rocking horse dipped forward, a simple pendulum motion.
"ai ste en throu daun, gon ai laik don ron." polar knew her, he had known her for so long, and sending a forceful 'apologies in advance!' for her innate foolhardiness was as a diplomatic as it got with skairipa. 

the question turning to him is always jarring, every time she does it. it leaves polar to wonder if she's deflecting. in truth, he doesn't want to have an opinion. he wants to be told what he is doing and obey like the scary guard dog privilege he is meant to give her; speaking up only when she makes reckless decisions that could force the hand of the commanders of the past and end her life.

yo laik heda. ai na badan.

a click of his teeth, a shake of his fur; unkempt from travel.

nou deya oyo sonraun. he grumbles, knowing of course that she could take his suggestions with a grain of salt; unable to help but wonder if her desire to seek out their spying shadow was because her pride was still wounded from sadgeda.

she wishes he would take himself more seriously. she wishes he found the capacity to choose, although his back over these tumultuous past weeks was the only one she would allow herself to sleep soundly against. 
she wishes she didn't have to put her hand on the stove to elect a reaction from him. she wishes she could see what he saw. she wishes he could resist her at times, like he did when she begged him to leave her to waste away, forever tarnished, alone. but polar waxs and wanes.
she doesn't know if she would ever be as strong, to do the things he had done for her. 
yo laik heda.
she knew that's what he genuinely believed. how she used to vaunt over the fact some mothers rumored she ate her sis and bro in her nomon's womb. now she was a wives tale of the few aimless specters of crogeda. 
sadgeda had spent all that she was. skairipa was spent.
and maybe that spy's head could return some her old glory to her.
"osir laik klir gon nau," she conceded cooly to no one. she hadn't even checked. she set the pair into a brisk pace once again, towards nowhere in particular. she wants to ask him what would they even do with themselves now.
ha! some heda he lauded. some heda she was.
the pelage on her neck rippled. she mutters as if defeated. "teik osir dig au stegeda en gonplei."