Blacktail Deer Plateau deliver me from worry

Her fangs shut around the hare with a snap, her own gut rolling as blood wet her fangs and the thing's death scream shattered the early-morning stillness. But no; this she would not eat, along with the other hare, morning dove, and squirrel she'd caught, all heaped near her den. She did not know how long she'd been here; enough for the angle of her body to grow sharp and lean with hunger, and the injuries from the river to fade away. 

She dropped this one near the rest, surveying her pile with gut-wrenching hunger. She'd become crepuscular, lurking about the fringes of the territory. And now she sought to repay them, the pack that had offered her a place to rest, a place to be safe from him. She hadn't eaten much beside the bare minimum since she'd come here; and she would not dare touch her repayment to the pack. She could not stay forever; she knew, but the terror at the male visiting had her cower here still. She blinked, ears drawing back against her skull as she stared vacantly at the pile, attempting then to drown the memories quickly.
@Forrest

Winter's hold on her joints had yet to give way, and though she knew that there was work to be done later in the day, Forrest wanted to make a trip to the hot springs before the rest of the world realized she was missing. She got up and stretched, tried to quiet a rippling yawn, and started to make her way from the rendezvous. Something stopped her; initially, she couldn't tell what it was, but she eventually placed the smell as blood. 

There hadn't been any caches so close to where she slept as far as she knew, so it was a strange passing scent. Forrest looked around and decided to investigate and see if anyone was injured before continuing on her morning promenade. Not too far off was a girl, thin and lanky; instead of being like Sorrel who looked as though she had never been well, this girl looked like she had once known life and was now becoming acquainted with death. 

Caution in situations like these had long since been lost to the wind in Forrest's case; she'd had enough patients to know that apprehension didn't get you anything you needed. Hey, girl? she called out as she drew in a bit closer, slowly but with purpose.

Her head snapped up when the words forced her from the thoughts, the phantom touch of the man's tongue on her temple having her shiver with disgust. She was filthy, dirty, wrong, and though her body had recovered her mind remained cracked. She blinked at the woman, suppressing a shiver of revulsion, and slid backwards, tail curled tightly around her rear as she folded herself into tight submission, the angular planes of her body jutting out as she stared, not daring to make a sound.

Oh, no, no, no, little lamb, Forrest cooed as she continued to close in, though with a bit more haste. Her own ears fell back while her height decreased to mimic the other's submission. There was a certain fragility to the situation that Forrest dare not test for fear of scaring her red angel away. It's okay. Her voice was barely above a whisper, but the raspy bass that it carried ensured it was heard.

The woman murmured sweetly, and the girl blinked. Reassurance was something that had been missing from her life since she'd crashed upon the isle, that had vanished along with the memory of her mother's face. Pema had not been reassuring, she had tended her physical wounds and given her a place to stay. The rest of the pack had avoided her and been avoided, and even in Tindome there had been none like this woman. The girl made a small sound, ears pressing forward against her crown, half wanting to hurl herself into the reassurance she was so starved for, half wanting to shrink away and return later, alone, to stow away her caches.

The child was hurt, but she was not broken; Forrest took that one small flick of the ears, that tiny reassurance, and filled herself with it. She looked over her features with a gentle gaze, eyes jumping from the fear and curiosity in her eyes to the apprehension of her frame. There was a silence that was broken by the quiet sucking of Forrest's teeth and a single step forward, ending her locomotion. 

I'm not here to hurt you, she told her, You and me, girl? We're the same, and me hurting you would be a disservice to myself. Forrest lifted herself a little then, only an inch or so, then bit at the inside of her cheek while she searched for the right words. You look like you've been hurting yourself enough, anyway.

 I'm not going to hurt you. The girl slowly began to relax, tail loosening from around her hindquarters as the woman continued to speak, her soft voice like a drug, like the poppy seeds Pema had given her. But her final words had the girl's heart plummet, and shame spread like rot through her. Her ears flicked backwards and for a moment she was silent. The words were true, and yet no one had spoken them aloud, not even she had admitted it. It was her punishment, the physical deterioration to match her mental state, the attempt to balance, overpower, her shame. "no," she whispered, but the words were shaky, followed by, "he did. he did things." She swayed on her paws, not having admitted him to anybody. They had known; the scent that clung to her fur like the filth of her memories had made what had happened clear.

Forrest understood. She didn't need any explanations to tell her what she already knew; there had been plenty of girls beaten and abused, taken advantage of, but Forrest found that often times, they put themselves through more pain than any man ever could. She pursed her lips and looked down to the ground, shaking her head in light of the clarity she'd been offered. Whoever he is, whatever he did, that's not your fault, sunshine — she gave another sigh of frustration then — but what is your fault is you starving yourself and forcing yourself to suffer because of it. 

There wasn't one story that Forrest hadn't heard that she hadn't heard before, and this was no different. A woman she had once worked under conceived and birthed the products of rape. She starved herself so that in turn, the pups would starve, too — no one made it out of that situation alive. Even a piece of Forrest died with them. Can I tell you something that I've learned?

She was silent as the woman reprimanded her, wanting to explain but unable to find any words to do so. It felt wrong; to be so unequal, shattered of mind and fit of body. The dull pain in her stomach gave her something to focus on besides the thoughts, the memories, and dulled the sting of shame. She was receptive, however, to the woman's words. not your fault. not your fault. It had been; she'd been naive, trusted, had not run.  not your fault. 

The woman offered to tell her something, and Anatha crept forward, seeking the warmth, the comfort, this woman seemed able and willing to provide. Mahagony gaze did not leave hers as she whispered only "yes," uncurling from her little ball of shame slowly, surely.

Forrest's eyes dashed between the eyes of the flame, searching for what they wanted to tell her; what they really wanted to say. A man will take whatever he wishes. He won't ask and he won't beg; they're naturally power starved, and the easiest way for them to quench their own thirsts is to take what isn't theirs, a pause, Women, we're different. We give and give until we can't give anymore, sometimes without even realizing it.

You've been giving your energy, your thoughts, yourself to the man who hurt you and he is thriving because of it. Not physically, no, but in your mind, his being is growing stronger because you're feeding it with your own heart. When you allow the pain to become your focus, it only grows. If you want the pain to go away, then you have to make the decision to let him starve instead of yourself so that he dies and you live to tell your story.

Forrest looked to her flame for permission before encompassing her in a large, loving embrace. I don't know you at all, little lamb, she whispered, but I know that you deserve more than to die because of guilt for something that you didn't do.

She listened raptly, ears pressing forward again, expression changing slowly from submissive fear to rapt interest. The woman spoke of men; their greed and their destructiveness. She spoke of giving, and slowly the woman's words shaped the vulnerable mind that was Anatha's. her distrust had found a focus then, the woman wrapping her carefully in a cradle of words. When the woman looked to her for permission, words fading in the air between them, Antha's gaze was open, the violence of her thoughts calmed. When the woman engulphed her in her embrace, the woman's body tensed reflexively until dissolving into quivering, quiet sobs, pressing against the woman and all the comfort she offered, murmuring only, then,  "I don't want to die." With those words, the resolve that gathered in her chest grew, like the formation of a planet. All the grief and shame and thoughts were beginning to pull together, slowly, rebuild the thing she'd been. It would take a while, surely, but the simple admittance of the fact strengthened the pull of the core of her, the core that sought to pull all of her back together again. 

Forrest took a step back and tried to meet the flame's warm gaze, Then eat. Memories can't kill you but starvation sure can. It was said with a kind voice, though a bit louder than it had been before; she knew that the energy you put out into the world was what prospered, and she was tired of allowing this melancholy mood swell. There was a welcoming grin on her maw, though her ears remained flattened. 

You must be a good hunter. Better than me, at least. Edit: The conversation continued from there, albeit less naturally than Forrest might have wished. All is well that ends well, she thought to herself, knowing that the flame would some day find herself again.