Hushed Willows My love, hear my song and cry

She had promised Nasamiituuq she would not wander, and yet they both knew that it was not in Waawaashkeshi's nature to stay in one place.

She walked along the mountains edge, singing songs as she went so that her dear friend may hear them echoing through the stone and know she was safe. Only when her singing ceased completely would there be reason to worry.

Keshi cared deeply for the other, for the home she had given her and the stories she had shared. The woman wished to stay safe for her sake.

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It was her song that drew him — but it was the pretty pale and gilded sight of her which kept Acheron lingering even after it had faded. She was young enough, too, to fit the bill. At least as far as he could tell. If his estimation of her age was off by a bit, he figured it could be blamed on his own youth.

Truth be told, he didn't really think she was his niece. If he had, he might not have wanted her so badly. Or maybe he still would; who knew?

Hello, He called out, offering a smile with true warmth. Her beauty made it easy enough.

The voice of a stranger cut through her verse, and her song soon faded. Eyes settled on him quickly, and she found the source to be a boy who likely was not much younger than herself.

It had been some time since she had met a stranger, and she was rarely fond of men... but Waawaashkeshi was nothing if not friendly.

Hello. She responded, returning the smile she was offered. Are you wandering the mountains, too?

Searching for someone, actually. You might know her, Acheron stepped closer as he spoke, still warm and cordial. He noted the pretty green of her eyes; perhaps this would be an easier sell than he'd thought. She looked the part, didn't she?

He drifted closer still. Pretty gold, like you, He shared, voice softer now. Yes, this one would do. Acheron lunged for her then, teeth seeking her scruff, too eager to delay any longer. He meant to seize her and bring her to the ground, heedless of any damage he might inflict.

He had been given her full attention, and yet the lunge was unexpected.

Paws quick to attempt at pushing the attacker, eyes filled with desperation looked towards Moonglow, towards Nasamiituuq.

Waawaashkeshi had never been a fighter, but she knew she her voice would reach further than any spilled blood.

Her jaw parted, and in a last attempt to save herself she let out a cry. Mournful, harmonious, but most importantly: loud.

Powerplaying based on what we talked about, lmk if I should edit tho!

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Easy enough to subdue the girl, though he couldn't keep her from crying out. His heart jumped at that — what if she had companions nearby? — but Acheron didn't falter. He gripped her ruff and tossed her back against the ground with a jerk of his head, hoping her skull would strike the dirt with enough force to knock her unconscious. He didn't want to hurt her more than he needed to.

There was blood — more than he'd anticipated, and abruptly Acheron was faced with the reality of it. The reality of how much he would need to hurt her. How much he already had. Consumed for the moment with thoughts of stopping the bleeding, he scrambled for something to press against the wound. He didn't let himself think beyond that. No going back now. He just had to get the bleeding to stop.

Surely his father would be proud.

Waawaashkeshi had never known the violence of men, though it had been heard through stories of sister's and grandmother's alike. Now she understood their fears, understood the need to look over their shoulders on dark nights and to hide in the midst of their heat. It was a disgusting, uncertain feeling that boiled in her stomach and made her feel ill. It was a sense of powerlessness that she had never before faced.

Her skull met the hard ground that was growing frozen in the winter's ice and snow, and her brain rattled in it's cage. The concious mind faded, and the red heat of blood began to flow from the back of her head.

She could see, and yet she could not move. She was alive, and yet she felt dead.

For a moment she felt clarity, and her mind went to one face. Her most treasured friend. Nasamii..tuuq.. The quiet, broken word slipped from her throat before she fell into an unsettling silence. The only assurance that life had not yet left the fragile body of the sunflower was the rising and falling of her chest.

Whatever she whispered, Acheron didn't hear it. His own thoughts were too loud. What did I do? He swallowed hard as if it might banish his doubts, but the bitter taste of them lingered on his tongue anyway.

Eventually the bleeding slowed, then stopped. Eventually his shaking paws steadied a little more. Eventually he stopped wondering what he had done — but that was worse, in a way. He knew what he had done. His porcelain paws were all stained red, drying to dark brown beneath glass nails and between pale toes. Acheron looked away, to the girl, and moved stiffly to pick her up. His father would know what to do.

So he took her away.