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There was no happiness left within her young, beaten body.
Prialux DeMonte had seen little of it in her life, and all of it was fading away as her infant days escaped her before time. She was broken, abandoned, neglected, and the world around her was all the more dull every day she spent wandering aimlessly, feeding off of carrion and fearing the cold and the dark. Murgash was no longer around, he who'd been her savior once, who'd given her a second chance... Or perhaps it had been him who'd stripped her down from any chance at having a normal life beside her family? His memory was the most vivid either way. Eros' name had been forgotten, Kavos' face was a distant memory, and Amara's existence an improbable event.
The sea did not appeal to her after Murgash's abandonment. She'd been lucky to dodge the drop, but what she'd exchanged it for was probably a tougher path. Solitude was terminal, it was only a matter of time until her frail body gave up. The base of a mountain did little to shelter the scared creature, but twilight was a fearsome eminence that Prialux did not want to confront. Tucked inside the first hole she could find, the girl sang herself asleep, her voice frail and fearful, the song a failed attempt at encouraging to find a way to survive the next day.
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Note to self: set after Kitsch joined Nwf
Kitsch could almost see her reflection glinting in the hare’s glassy, beadlike eye. The eye was held wide, alert — the creature knew she was there. Kitsch had never been a skilled hunter [had never had to be] but a foreign emotion of guilty drove her to try her hand. The oujo had embarrassed herself at the caches, gorging herself. So Kitsch had been driven to such lengths as to hunt to refill the pack’s coffers. Though the girl was somewhat of a light footed and lithe individual, it seemed that her footsteps fell with the heaviness of a thundering herd. Her prey scattered before her as if there existed a herald before her, shouting her presence for all to hear. Often times Kitsch didn’t even see her prey — only heard it as it skittered off into the underbrush, never to feel her teeth or experience the fear of a true pursuit.
But this hare… yes, it had noticed her, but it did not appear to deign her a threat. It nibbled away but remained ever cognizant of the ink-dipped girl to it’s side, stalking in the background. Kitsch decided she could not wait one more second for the animal, lest it change it’s mind, so she shot out from her hiding place and moved quickly; but the hare was quicker! With lightening-like movements, Kitsch was led on a chase that led her nearly a mile away from where they started and the young wolf eventually conceded defeat to the tireless vermin. Kitsch’s sides heaved from her efforts, but over the sound of her heavy breath carried a soft aria. A sweet song it was, reminding Kitsch quite fondly of her dear wet nurse, and she was drawn from the forest to a small hole in the ground.
“Hello?” Kitsch called, canting her head towards the hole and not entirely sure what to expect.
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She was expecting the worst, the cold was always discouraging and the hunger a painful curse, but somehow she wasn't dead. She sobbed between lines, fearing this would be her last night, the coldest one, fearing that Murgash would return to find a frozen body stuffed inside the saddest hole, and Prialux simply couldn't do anything.
But the world had different plans for the defenseless child. The first thing visible in her eyes was panic, fear of a horrible death in the hands of a savage, but that only lasted for as little as it took the girl to realize that there was kindness in that voice. She peeped out of the hole through sorrowful eyes, fearful and slowly. But then she gave into hope and crawled out of the darkness, keeping herself low, with eyes to the ground and tail safely tucked between her feeble thighs. Once out there she laid on the ground exposing her belly to the stranger, giving her the chance to decide what would happen next and hoping, deeply hoping, that there was kindness within her.
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From the hole crawled a sorry looking thing; a honey and quicksilver girl that looked younger than she, but not by much. The figure crawled from the darkness whence she came and Kitsch’s eyes immediately softened, following the defeated girl as she inched closer and assumed a supine posture, hollow belly exposed. This was prostration was not foreign to the ink-dipped Kitsch, who had seen the bellies of many wolves in her illustrious heyday. She had been royalty, after all — if one of her constituents displeased her, this was a position known to easily soothe her youthful ire. However, seeing such abasement from this girl, here and now — it unnerved Kitsch. Wolves outside her kingdom were not keen on such displays of submissions, but here the feeble girl offered herself so freely.
As evidenced by her time with the woman West, Kitsch had a soft spot for broken things. The pearl had been shielded from these types of somber matters, having been surrounded by only the best and the prettiest and the most vanilla of things all her life. Injuries [especially those resulted from battle and war] were kept quite distanced from her. Hunger might have swept her countryside, but the affliction would never have touched her. Kitsch had never truly known fear neither, allowing her confident and meddlesome nature to swell completely unchecked. She said the word, and someone else swung the axe.
And so existed pretty little Kitsch, totally disconnected from the reality of the world.
Consequences were so infrequent that seeing such pain, in the flesh, made her wish to assuage the victim’s suffering — it was one of the few times Kitsch found it impossible to hide her concern. “Oh no, no, no” she tittered maternally, entirely upset by the state of the poor girl. It was not long ago that Kitsch herself was adrift amongst the wilds, disoriented and invisible. Kitsch was still lost of course [and harbored a great hope that she would soon find her way back home], but this transient looked like she could use some guidance. Kitsch loved to give guidance. The pearl moved one black-toed paw forward, then the next, and slunk closer to Prialux to close the distance between them. and, if the girl would allow it, would plant a small and sweet kiss upon her pale cheek.
“What’s happened to you?”
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Had wolves been gifted with the virtue, Prialux would have cried in that moment as she offered herself completely now to fate. The world had been evil with her for a long time, perhaps even from the start, and the sweet child could suffer no more. She needed a kind soul to rescue her. The Domino lupine had shown her just what she needed, and with that Prialux felt safe again. She let a whine escape as her rescuer leaned closer, and she allowed her to plant a kiss on her face with eyes closed and nervous trembling. They're gone,
she said, almost crying, They're all gone...
there was no one left beside her, or even expecting her back home. There was no home to come back to, she'd tried. There was only fear and cold and darkness now, and Prialux needed it to end.
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Forgive me for the delay!
She was a sad sight, the girl who trembled beneath her kiss, and Kitsch was reminded of herself just a scant month or so ago. Shivering, starving and wishing for a kind soul — hell, any soul — to whisk her away from her suffering. Kitsch knew nothing of this girls plight but empathized with her strongly; felt her heart begin to beat in time with the one who laid before her. Compassion was a feeling quite foreign to the girl and whenever it stirred within her soul, the kitten was quick to yield to it. A quick, caesious glance was tossed to the left, then to the right, and their surrounding indicated that they were indeed alone in their anguish.
Without another soul around to tell her what to do or how to help, Kitsch curled herself around the woebegone and drew her into her bantam embrace — Kitsch always benefitted from a physical type of succor, so why wouldn’t this girl? If Prialux was alone, wouldn’t this action heal all of her hurts? Kitsch prayed it would [but doubted it, since she deeply understood the uncompromising nature of melancholy] and murmured softly “who’s gone?”
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She was embraced by the female, who curled around her frail form in a tender act of compassion. They were alone, they were safe, and the feeling fed Prialux's hope with every second she remained next to the other female. Could this be the end of it? The end of her suffering?
The bay pack is gone... Murgash is gone... I'm all alone now
she allowed herself to admit through her sorrowful breath. Please don't leave me here...
she begged, pressing herself closer to the blue eyed female's body and feeling her warmth cover her. She just needed the cold dark nights to end.
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“I wont,” the girl hummed. Kitsch did not usually find herself in a leadership position but now that she was here [and it was such a small semblance of authority that she had], but the ingenue didn’t know if she truly cut for the task. Yes, making decisions was fun, or at least it was when she pull the strings behind the mask — but such liability was daunting. The girl who trembled in her faint delicate embrace, according to her story, had no one else to turn to. ”I’m Kitsch.” What was Kitsch to do now, with a girl so sad that she could do nothing more than cower and cry? Though that question continued to plague her, Kitsch knew that she could not forsake the wraith for she, herself, had been in a situation so familiar, so recently. When she had been cast away by nothing more than the will of the gods, Kitsch would had killed for a the light in her dark, dark world — and Kitsch was more than happy assume that position.
Plus, if she turned away, what would Prialux do? Die?
Even though Kitsch was determined to not leave the girl, but wasn’t sure bringing Prialux back to the pack was the best decision; she hadn’t exactly curried the best favor with any of the members of the family, after all.“Should we… look for them?” Kitsch spoke [as if there was hope that this Murgash and the bay pack were simply misplaced] and heartbreak eeked from between her pale lips, as she knew such sadness and it was something of an empathetic, out of body experience to see it in the flesh. Kitsch didn’t want to probe the gentle wraith too much, but needed a clue — any intimation — to show her their next move.
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The promise of her rescuer pulled a long, hopeful sigh with which Prialux's safety was secured. Kitsch was her angel's name, and she would hold a special place in Prialux's heart if she kept what she was promising. There was simply no room for disappointment now, for the sweet girl's heart was fragile, and so was her body.
The beach, the Bay, The stone den, even as far as the coconut grove and the sealion shores... I've looked everywhere,
was her hopeless answer to Kitsch's suggestion of digging deeper. There was no use on wasting time looking for a ghost. They were gone, gone for good, and they had forgotten to take Prialux with them. I'm hungry...
she whispers, fearing her savior's response. She wanted to be taken somewhere safe, somewhere dry and warm, and she didn't want to feel alone again. But the fulfillment of all of those desires were now in the pale angel's hands, and Prialux was at her mercy.
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The door in front of her closed and Kitsch knew she was now entirely responsible for finding a solution to their mutual woes. Prialux deemed it a futile effort to try and find her family, an affirmation that both pleased and dismayed the temptest. Kitsch knitted her inkbrushed eyebrow together in distinct thought — not that Prialux could glimpse the consternation carved upon upon her’s big spoon’s visage, so Kitsch let out an airy “hmmm” to denote her thinking.
When Prialux suggested hunting, Kitsch gave a small huff; another thing she couldn’t do! Kitsch had the skill nor the strength to feed herself even herself [famine was an affair that Kitsch knew keenly]. But, hunting was a peasant’s game anyways and Kitsch had no desire to partake in it… despite her initial aversion to such an invitation, Kitsch couldn't help but regarded the pale, shivering girl kindly. The small vagabond had won her affinity and her wellbeing hung in the balance, so Kitsch would find a way. “I’m no good at hunting…” she responded hazily, eyes darting to and fro, as if a rabbit would be standing right there saying “pick me! pick me!” Alas, no rabbit was.
Despite her reservations, Kitsch knew her pack’s cache’s were likely still their best bet for a quick meal. “I can get you something from my pack’s caches,” the shewolf, scarcely older than the girl she cradled, suggested with sudden optimism. She was proud to have solved yet another of problems she came across, even if it did involve stealing food from her current court and absconding with it to feed another. Suddenly forgetting the immediacy of Prialux’s hunger in the pride, Kitsch settled her head contentedly upon Prialux’s withers and let out a small huff. It was nice to have a friend.
“What your name? I’m Kitsch?”
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She nodded, a slow, shy nod that expressed her gratitude for Kitsch offer. Anything that wasn't rotten or in the process would be a feast that Prialux would thanks for the rest of her days, and fresh food from a willing pack's caches were a perfect picture. There were simply no words that Prialux could have uttered to express her feelings, her tranquility for having been found by such a kind angel, and from that moment forward she would hold a special place in her hears.
Prialux...
she utters, making an effort to sit up and catch a gentle glimpse of Kitsch's bright, sapphire eyes. Thank you,
she whispers, and lays her head on the angel's chest for a few seconds. That was all she could say, and never would it be enough. She was in no condition to hunt for herself any longer nor would she be for days, but she had taken the risk of trusting a stranger with eyes closed. What else was there to do?
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Prialux tucked against her own ermine frame and Kitsch almost purred in her contentment. Sure, Kitsch had just witnessed the abasement of an innocent not much younger than herself [which usually left her feeling quite sour], but this felt good; and it had been so long since she last felt something good. “Of course,” the pearl murmured. She could turn away a wolf in need no more than a bird could forsake its annual migration — it was instinctive and inscribed upon her genetic makeup. For what reason would she suffer politics and prominence if not for an overwhelming dedication to those less fortunate?
Soon Kitsch would bring Prialux back to the pack [situated not far off], but the here and now was something Kitsch was not ready to let go of.