the days of praimfaya's absence stretch on and on; a string of continuation that worripa can see no end to. if there is light at the end of the particular tunnel, it eludes worripa. instead, the shadows circle him, crying out like the cries of the raven perched in the tree overhead. baby blue gaze peers up at it; watching with a silence that has become familiar to him.
would he even remember her as the days stretched to weeks, weeks to months?
he keeps to himself and lingers behind
@Skaigona like the shadows of a brewing storm, content to let her take the lead. he continues to feed shyly when he is hungry and regurgitated meat isn't enough — though seqouia has been good to him and his sister.
the buttery sunshine lures him outside the den that he and his sister share with the young family and he stretches in it; eager and ...restless. it spurs him to take quick steps away — momentum picking up as the sounds from within dampen with distance. where he was going, worripa didn't know only that he was
moving.
She listened to the voices of the forest: the soft rustle of leaves as the Summertime breeze swept through branches; songbirds calling to their mates; buzzing of bees as they drifted from one bright wildflower to another. Ciri had not seen much of her father's claim in the days since he brought her there, but she could appreciate what little part of it she'd experienced so far.
She'd been lounging in a warm ray of afternoon sunshine when the sound of a small creature's approach captured her attention. The swallow pulled herself up onto her elbows to look around, her initial expectation to perhaps find a marten rummage on the forest floor, so she was surprised when the figure of a wolf pup ventured into her line of sight - followed swiftly by a paler child who shrieked after him.
Ciri gathered onto her paws, leaf litter clinging to her flank, and her vibrant eyes with urgency in the direction from which the pups had come. Such little children would not be alone in the woods, surely, so she anticipated a parent would be hot on their heels.
She stood there awkwardly, and after a few moments she stepped cautiously toward the duo. "Hey," the dark yearling called out sweetly, voice wavering with uncertainty as she checked again for any suggestion of an adult to follow, "where's your mama?"
it is towards her, he convinces himself. towards the woman who birthed him. towards the woman that left them; though he is too young to quite grasp the concept of abandonment. he only knows that she is out there. somewhere.
skaigona calls out to him: first in their shared language, all that they had of their mother in her continued absence ...and then in common. for a moment, worripa considers ignoring her but she isn't one of their milkmother's brood. she is his own flesh and blood and if he ignores her then he is no better than their birthmother.
don gonot.
going out; he responds. it was critical, but for what reason he isn't sure. because he feels suffocated by all the bodies in seqouia's den? because he wants to find praimfaya? because he seeks an adventure ( even if his sullen, sulky attitude casts an overcast cloud upon them ).
an adult approaches — and not one that worripa recognizes — and asks where their mama is after greeting them. gone.
worripa answers, trying his best and utterly failing to mask the thousands of emotions that war for control of his visage.
grief. pain. betrayal. anger; like a tantrum building beneath the surface and on the precipice of being let loose ...unsure how to communicate these heavy and conflicting emotions in any other way.