Bearclaw Valley oh brother, our blood was so thick

in hindsight, indra regretted being so transparent with what grieved her -- but perhaps, it was for the best. she often appreciated those that exposed themselves clearly, and if she was honest, in a way it felt as if a burden was lifted as she confided in poet. perhaps the priestess would find her childish, or her fears immature -- but indra had seen some of her worst fears realized in her short life, and wanted nothing of that for laurel's children.

"like us." she reiterated, her gaze trailing the ground -- how to explain to poet in a few short words what it felt like to be bastard, unwanted children? to be shuttled callously from hand to hand, to be under both parent's shadows tantalizingly close to absolvement, to validation -- only to find that love was never there, or that they were never truly wanted?

or to watch, wide-eyed, as their lives came crashing down before them and their idols toppled -- to watch their father with another woman, their mother with another man -- both hateful, spiteful, beings who drove more passion in their hearts for the hatred of their spouses than love they ever spared for their children?

she leveled a heavy sigh and a thin smile pressed her lips. it was without warmth. "without a real family." indra would do her best to see to it the children never wanted -- but what if they wanted a father? she couldn't provide that.