Wolf RPG

He woke to a whispering sound, wings beating in the cold night air. Tybault shifted with a grimace from where he slept — alone, as he preferred now that his sister was lost to him. She would never let him that close again, he knew. And maybe —
Maybe he didn't deserve it anymore. Maybe he never did in the first place. At first Tybault hadn't been able to understand how they'd gotten here, he and his dearest sister, how they'd ended up with such bitterness between them. That didn't last long; he was stubborn, but he wasn't stupid. He remembered what he'd told Arric, and how he had truly believed it then. He'd really thought that he would be able to walk away, if she told him to.
But then she did. And he didn't. Instead he'd hurt the one person he'd always wanted to protect — from their parents, from herself, from the world. There were so many things she had never known and now never would. Tybault couldn't find anger for it, not anymore, not now that he'd recognized the full impact of his decision that night. He hoped that she was happy wherever she was. He hoped that Lestan or whoever she was with would remember the little things that she would always forget, the small hints she gave throughout the day that indicated exactly what she needed at the time. Tybault didn't have much confidence in that. Who could ever know her the way he did?
Would her new friends know how to calm her when she woke up screaming? Would they know what to do on those days when she spoke rarely and cryptically and wandered as if lost? Or when she cried endlessly? Did she know what to do? So much of himself had been dedicated to care of his sister, Tybault could not separate the worry from the heartbreak. He knew now that it wasn't quite love that had brought him here. He wasn't sure what to call it. Tybault only knew that it was woven into the core of his being, not by nature but forced into him by circumstance. And he knew that he didn't want it anymore, that he understood his sister's vehement rejection now.
But that sound... it was distracting. It faded and intensified by turns until finally he was forced from his thoughts, forced to look up. A bird. A golden bird, small and elegant and flitting around his head in the darkness. Tybault stood abruptly with a hiss of pain. The bird dove into the night. Thoughtlessly he followed through the bypass and far from where his brothers slept. He followed until he could not anymore, until the cold and the pain forced him to stop and all he could do was watch the bird disappear into the night.
And he thought he knew what it meant.