Blackfeather Woods pink wine

@Abraxas

It was yet another day in the dark and dank forest — another day of Kitsch’s lethargic, meaningless existence. Her days were spent laying in one area of the forest, then another, and [if she was feeling particularly spritely] another; an expanse of endless naptimes spent cradled in tree roots and various shallow depressions across the land. The stracciatella girl huffed and skirted around the other wolves; and if it sounds over-dramatic, that’s because it was. Kitsch easily vacillated between extremes, and the girl had been feeling rather down, recently. Solitude was fine — but only sometimes. It was now that she wanted attention… not that there were many around her who were willing to provide, which only made her feel it all more keenly. Somehow, her want for company drove her further into a quixotic lonliness.

It was a day that was cooler than most, and it reminded the kitten that winter would soon be upon her. The forest was always humid and chilly, but now there was a certain bite to that unsettled her. Sullenly, Kitsch found a spot of dappled sunshine [so little of it could actually break through the thick canopy], circled to flatten a small bed of grasses and plopped her diminutive form onto the earth. Then, the girl entertained museful thoughts of her family and how it had been nearly a year since she had seen them last — it was a winter storm that had separated her and drove her from their kingdom, after all. Uncertain with what this next winter would bring, but also certain it could bring nothing worse than what had already been wrought, Kitsch relegated herself to simple bathing in the noonday sun.         

The path to Kitch's den site was well worn with the evidence of Abraxas' pawprints. In the time since Nemesis' untimely departure, the resident Reaper had found companionship in the snow-cloaked woman. Something was captivating about her, something that he could undoubtedly acknowledge as infatuation, but he did not act on such emotions; he had other motives in regards to their trust. 

There was a silent agreement between the two wolves, one in which Abraxas sought poppies for Kitsch. For quite some time he had fueling her addition to the scarlet blossom; soon, he would take her access to the opioid and watch as she crumpled under the weight of her addiction. 

Only a few more days, Abraxas promised himself. 

It was as he walked that he caught sight of her lounging in the early-Autumn light that danced upon the forest floor. He diverted his path quickly so that he could get to her. "Kitsch," Abraxas greeted once he paused alongside the older wolf, his words spoken around the valuable plant that he clamped down on.

Kitsch didn’t know how long she laid in autumnal sunlight, as weak and pallid as it was in the lateness of the year, but she drifted in and out on consciousness for what seemed to be many moments. Besides in the poppy, it was only in this space [between wakefulness and sleep] that that the kitten could find peace. The reality of her situation haunted her by day, yet night was no better because he beguiled her dreams — the man of many moons ago; the one who had broken her and made her to realize what she truly was. worthless.

So, yes, the drowsiness of her repose was just fine with her.

Despite her catnap, Kitsch’s ink-pointed ear twitched as a sound registered in her auditory faculties; she immediately knew it to be her name, recognized the base of the voice that greeted her, and lifted her gaze to glimpse Abraxas gliding onto the scene — the colors of the plant vivd and beckoning against the darkness of his pelt. The male was the only one who paid her any mind and Kitsch often found comfort in his presence. She figured that Abraxas must find comfort too — I mean, why else would be bring her such wonderful presents, if not for his fancifulness? It was the only reason that the girl’s naive mind could conjure, so she didn’t really question it at all. 

Kitsch let her attention linger upon the poppy for a moment too long before pushing herself into a languid sitting position; bones and muscles held loose, relaxed. “Hey,” she greeted, certain he had a reason for today’s visit and would enlighten her forthwith. He always had a reason.