Wolf RPG

she calls for @Aventus, but her voice holds no challenge, but apology.

truce.

their mother is dead. whatever lies between them is insignificant to the loss of the raven. now they are on the same side once more, and Avicus feels the need to bury the metaphorical hatchet—

they cannot fight as one without finding common ground.

she is afraid. and ashamed.

giving into Aventus means giving into the notion that she is his inferior, or at least so she thinks.

but the quest to avenge Astara is beyond her, beyond him, beyond them all, and she cannot rest before she fights. and she cannot fight Nyra before she gives her word to her brother. 

complicated. but she waits upon a middling rise of the mesa, eyes wary.

His first instinct was to ignore his sister's summons.

Last time, he had heeded her. Last time, she had sunk her fangs into his flesh in a battle that ought only have been posturing and boasting, forcing him to not only fight back, but exile her. Avicus had shown a side of herself to her brother that up until then, he had only suspected. Her voice did not hold the same fire this time, but why should he waste even a second of his time on a blood traitor who wished him dead?

It was Astara's face in his mind's eye that convinced him otherwise. Like Avicus, Aventus knew their fighting had hurt their poor mother. She would want them united now. He could never trust Avicus again, but if he was to prove himself worthy of his rank still, the least he could do was hear her out.

His eyes roved the rising ground ahead and found her sitting there, silhouetted against the higher rises of the mesa. Those same eyes were flinty and wary as he drew as near as he dared, leaving a little over ten feet between them. Enough space to react if she bared her fangs at him again, as he wholly expected her to do. For Avicus, Aventus spared no benefit.

He watched her, flicked his tail once, but said nothing.

a dark shadow raises above the rocks; her eyes wander, turn to it, fix upon it, burn there. her gaze might seem a challenge, but her posture—slack shouldered, low-breasted—is not.

they are upon even ground, here.

and after their mother's death, they are the remnants that will carry on her legacy—

because god knows the girl that fled will not do it for them.

i'm hhh— hhss— hhhttshorry, she finally manages, keeping her eyes fixed on Aventus.

sstthhhorry, she repeats, for emphasis. damned tongue.

maybe one day she'll learn to exist without her voice, as her mother had. how had Astara done it?

For a long moment, Aventus wanted to hold fast against his sister. Are you sure about that? he almost asked in the cocksure manner of a boy who knew better. How can I believe a single word you say? But after some time of merely watching and not saying anything, he let his shoulders sag a little. It was undeniable that part of him missed the closer bond they once had, before ambition and rivalry reared between them both.

Trust, no, he could not grant that, but they were what was left of Astara. Apophis was hardly more than an afterthought within Ursus, reclusive and silent most of the time. Aventus often forgot he existed. And Asperas, well, she was gone. Of Astara's offspring, only he felt he was worthy of Ursus, but perhaps Avicus could be once more.

I am sorry too, he said at last, in a more earnest tone than the sharp light in his eye might suggest. He supposed he was sorry, at that. Sorry he had insulted her, at least, not sorry for the distrust or for sending her out into the world. The world had been cruel to her. He was seized with the desire to ask what had happened to her tongue—she had always spoken a little like a dullard, but despite what he had said in anger, he had never really thought of her as one. Now she sounded ... worse, somehow.

He curbed the curiosity and instead spent the next hour rehashing events with Avicus until both finally realized they had misunderstood the intentions of the other, and vowed to be better in the name of their mother.