Wounded no longer and better off than before, the spring brought with it the strength to keep going. Alexander mostly kept to himself, avoiding those of no relation and hardly paying even his family much mind; he had a task in mind, something he needed to do to be at peace. To prove words spoken, to reveal himself fully—there was much to do. Eventually, he knew he would need to seek out a meeting with his sister but, for the time being, his mind was preoccupied.

Moving through the territory, Xan was hardly into the outskirts when he was off, shooting forth after a hare; it zigged and zagged and he followed after, stopping only when it was limp between his jaws. The part of him that remembered starving, remembered the famine, wanted nothing more than to devour it right then and there. But the albino resisted and, instead, turned his attention towards @Laurel, who he started at a steady trot to find.

It was not her scent that led him to her but the sound of her voice, muffled as it was. He stopped dead in his tracks, ears swiveling atop his head as he determined from where the sound came. Once he had his answer, Alexander was walking in her direction—then stopping again, body growing rigid. For in the air there hung a scent he was all too familiar with, intertwined with her own. Dropping down on his haunches, he let the hare fall from his mouth to the ground, before righting himself and retreating several steps.

“Laurel?” he called out. “I brought you a rabbit.” It was meant to be an offering, a way to show he was trying. But what he discovered that day by doing so made him feel uneasy, uncertain; he refrained from approaching, maintaining a decent distance between himself and where she hid. “Do you want me to go away?” he had to ask, pulling his ears back as he did so. He didn’t want to leave—he wanted to stay, he wanted to be close to her—but Xan, in the back of his head, knew better. He knew better than to allow himself to be his own destroyer; he knew he didn’t have to be that way, he’d known all along but, in the past, it was always easier to give in to instinct. Now, though… now he knew the trouble that, that caused, the pain it inflicted. Now, he wanted to show her he was better, that he really had changed.

The shout that left her maw surprised him, yet that surprise soon wilted away when her response was clarified. He watched her, searching for anything that might suggest she did care—but Alexander had never been good at reading emotions, their complexity often leaving him uncertain; he didn’t feel as if he could trust his own judgement. But even still, his eyes did not leave her, not when she spoke nor even as he picked the rabbit back up again. And slowly, cautiously, he made to approach her, intending to get within a few feet before tossing the rabbit her way and promptly sinking to the ground thereafter. Uncomfortable, he looked away and shifted his weight around, searching for the words he wanted to say.

But all that he wanted to say, all that he needed to say, abandoned him. Left him voiceless, unable to explain all that he wished her to hear. So, for now, he asked, “Are you okay?” Are you okay? As the question left his mouth, those same words echoed through his head; it was a stupid question to ask, one he never liked to hear himself, but the only one that didn’t evade his tongue.

When her gaze first met his, he was at a loss for words; fear, clear to see. He wanted to delve deeper, to ask her why?—but she looked away and he was left wondering: were they the same? There were so many things he wanted to ask, so much he needed to tell her, but he couldn’t. Not now, not after that—he was aware enough to understand that questioning was the last thing she needed, and he didn’t want to push her.

And when she opened her mouth, all of those thoughts drifted beyond his reach. There was a moment immediately after that he was taken aback, heart skipping a beat from the suddenness of her words—but they were only words and he couldn’t keep from wondering how true they were. He wanted to believe, more than anything, he wanted to know it was true—

Carefully, he picked himself up and approached her; his movements were slow and steps placed cautiously. He wanted to be close, to be with her again—they could be happy together, couldn’t they? But when finally he reached her, all he could do was attempt to touch his muzzle to her cheek, gentle as a lamb. “No you don’t,” he murmured, unable to look away now. It wasn’t so simple—these things never are.

There was a silence that followed and he would not break it, watching her just as carefully as before. But when she quivered and shook beneath his touch, he stepped back, offering her the space he’d taken away; at heart, Alexander was not terrible. As awful as he acted, as spiteful and cruel as he could be, that wasn’t him—not truly. He could think of others, he could be mindful of them. And seeing Laurel standing there, avoiding his gaze when the Laurel he knew would have met it straight-on, he felt in the wrong. There was more to this, more to her words that did not match what they said. He wanted to reach out and comfort her but kept himself from doing so, fearful that one wrong move would make things worse.

“Because you’re scared,” was all he said at first, slowly and quietly. He couldn’t read her voice, couldn’t pick out emotions from her tone, but he could read her—she was not the same Laurel he knew, not the same Laurel that took what she wanted, when she wanted it, and demanded respect. There was a change, a quietness to her that spoke volumes—something he understood because he was the same, even if he was yet to realise his awareness.

“What happened?” he asked, concerned. “Why—?” But he stopped himself, the question disappearing just as swiftly as it presented itself. The why didn’t matter as much as the what—what had happened to cause this change in her? What was it that made his own heart clench in his chest, worry and fear combined pricking his skin? What could be done?

I’m not scared was the claim she made but he didn’t believe her—he couldn’t. Something wouldn’t let him, some part of him knew it was a lie; perhaps he truly was his father’s son, truly able to read others—or perhaps there was more to it, something deep down, something—

She continued to speak, to shout at him; her anger plain as day, teeth bared. But what she said, he couldn’t deny—he hadn’t been there. He was never where he needed to be, never around to protect those he cared for. He was always a day late and a dollar short, as much as it pained him to be time and time again. “I’m sorry—” he tried to say but the words were quiet, uncertain… an apology wasn’t what he needed to give, an apology was the least valuable thing right now.

“I wasn’t there and… and I’m sorry for that but—” a blink, a glance away, a forced look into her eyes. “—I want to be here for you now. I want you to know you can rely on me… I want to do everything I can for you but I can’t if you won’t let me.” Maybe she was right, maybe it wasn’t fair for him to ask this of her. But it was all Xan could do.

A part of him wanted to utter I know but his mouth remained shut; she confirmed what he was already aware of, he didn’t need to further press it. Rather, he inched closer, slowly, ears pulled back out of uncertainty—for how she might react.

“I want to make things right,” he said. “I want to make it so you won’t be scared anymore.” So neither of us have to be scared, he nearly added, stopped only by his own inability to expose himself. Because if Laurel knew the truth, would she even want anything to do with him? Would she still humour his words, his declaration to protect her, if she ever found out? If he couldn’t even protect himself, couldn’t keep the demons away, then...

“Will you let me do that for you?” he asked instead, steering his mind elsewhere. It would do no good for either of them, he told himself, if he didn’t focus on the present; there was no need to revisit his past, no reason to show that piece to her.

I’ll try.

The answer was simple enough; not exactly what he wanted but still something he could work with. Something that gave him hope, really, and there was a flicker of that very hope reflected in his eyes. A hesitant wag of his tail, relieved to be given a chance.

“Thank you,” he murmured, although thanks alone did not feel like enough. She was giving him a chance to better things, a chance to stay when all he ever knew was running away. And that was something he would always appreciate.

When she spoke next, her voice was different, almost softer than before. And although the words were dismissing herself, the albino remained hopeful. He did not try to argue nor give chase, but merely nodded and watched her go. Xan did not abandon the spot there until she was no longer within his sights, then ended up moving in the direction opposite to her own.