Moonspear southern gothic

@Yama ??!?!

Her interaction with her younger, tawny sister was minimal, at best. She had always gotten along best with the girls brothers, and the truth of it was that Yami had been such a disappointment that her interest in the other had never really presented itself to her. But given the fact that she had never strayed from Moonspear in her lifetime, Hydra determined that perhaps she may be worth interacting with more.

The alpha knew next to nothing about her younger sister. Her interests, her passions, what made her tick... Yama was background noise, though Hydra hoped she might wish to become more than that. Was she capable of it? She desired all of her subordinates, family or not, to be involved in protecting her cubs... it was time to see what her sister might be made of.

hI SRRY FORGOT ABOUT THIS IN MY MESSAGES

While Yama had never strayed from the mountain, she had still partially detached herself from the place as a whole since the deaths of her parents. Everyone’s lives changed that day but, for Yama, it was so much more than that. She had lost her family, her teachers. She had lost two of the most important people in her life and it had hurt her terribly; she had her brother, Arcturus, to help her through it but that was it. Ever since that day she felt a weight around her neck, dragging her down further and further, disallowing her an opportunity to breathe. All she wanted was for her parents to return—or to join them.

Per usual, the girl’s wanderings that day were aimless at best—she did that a lot now, just wandered around, mind and face blank. There was an emptiness to her gaze, unreadable because there was nothing there to read. She did not even notice how the dark mass in the distance grew and took on the form of her elder sister, and she did not stop to greet her as a result of it. Where Yama was concerned, she was alone and her lonesome path demanded silence.

Hydra observed her sister, who did not acknowledge her; but it was not just her, but anything surrounding her. Hydra, dogged wretch that she was, elected simply to follow her in silence. She could appreciate that much for a short while. Think, too. Her cubs had brought plenty of noise; this was... nice. The circumstances surrounding Yama's was one Hydra was not entirely oblivious too, and that alone was what caused her gaze to darken as she mutely moved alongside Yama. Background noise indeed; for a moment, Hydra had near forgotten she was there. Yama blended well with the oncoming fall foliage; her elder sister already thought of ways she might be useful.

Padding along in silence, her mind was wandering miles away; as hard as she tried to recollect herself, there was a hidden hurdle there that she couldn’t quite clear. Perhaps this was her fate, to live in solitude for the entirety of her life, however long that may be. At some point, her steps began to slow until she was standing there, stiff-legged and just as blind to her surroundings as before. Even her body, it seemed, was growing tired of this existence. The steady tread of footfalls at her rear grew louder—closer—and, in a matter of seconds, suddenly became deafening.

Yama pinned her ears back and swung around to face her follower, body rigid and fur standing on end; her subconscious still responded to potential threats, instincts working in overdrive to ensure her survival, even though her conscious self wasn’t the least bit interested in maintaining this feat of living. But when she came face-to-face with someone that she recognised, she visibly relaxed, the imagined threat nullified.

“Hydra…” she murmured, dipping her head and averting her gaze. “I… didn’t know it was you…” She didn’t know anyone had been there initially, actually, but she left that part out—what would be the point in making her uselessness all the more obvious?

Her sister reacted, albeit belatedly, and Hydra did in turn; instinct against instinct, Hydra was prepared to become the threat the agouti wolf feared she faced until her sister recognized her error. Her tail lashed, and Hydra's blue eyes searched her sister. We have walked together for some time, Hydra revealed; long enough for Hydra to understand something was amiss. Worriedly, she asked: what is going on? Was Yama ill, beyond being heartsick for those lost to them? Hydra sniffed, not at all absently—she searched for anything malodorous that would reveal to Hydra that she was sickly, though nothing presented itself to her keen nose.

The comment of their having walked together for a while forced her ears flat against her head with embarrassment. Was she that oblivious—no, self-centered—that she had not even noticed when her sister joined her? Apparently so. “Oh…” was all she could manage to say, uttered with hushed tones. Maybe she shouldn’t even go out, not when she could not hear the approach of others. Wouldn’t it better for everyone if she just stayed tucked away, out of everyone’s sight? She thought so, and hoped to make that happen, but found herself stilled by the one question that she did not want to—or could not—answer:

What is going on?

Yama swallowed hard and shook beneath her sister’s gaze, the question alone terrifying because she didn’t know the answer—or maybe she did, and it was the answer that terrified her. Because to come to terms with it, to accept its existence and verbalise it, seemed wrong. So, she forced it down and locked it away, answering with, “I don’t know what you mean.” She was fine. She had to be fine—she had to be fine, even as her eyes stung with tears she could hardly keep at bay and her stomach twisted and turned with bottled-up grief. She had to be fine because she was scared of what she would do if she accepted that she wasn’t.

Oh, no—

Tears. Or at least the threat of them.

She was bad with these. Hydra nearly balked in the face of them—should she go? Her sister might be better off for it. There was still time; she was not crying, not yet, not really. Yama had always been something like a ghost to Hydra, giving most of her time to their mother and father... or her littermates. Arcturus cared most for her, of them all; she was his last littermate left, here. Had her spirit departed with their parents? Could it be brought back? What would it take, to see if she were more than simply white noise? 

Hydra did all she could in the moment. She remained. The Queen remained steady where Yama seemed to waver, and said: I am here for you, sister, voice softer than moments ago. She did not explain what she meant; she imagined Yama did know, but perhaps was not ready to say so. That was alright; Hydra did understand that much. The finality of saying it—almost as though it was acceptable, that terrible occurrence, that awful day. It was why she herself could not say, I wish they could be here for you still; even her tongue wilted at the idea of speaking this terrible truth.

Gaze downcast and eyes blinking rapidly, the tears were forced back and out of her eyes; she did not want to cry, she was so tired of crying, but what else was there to do? She could not help it, often doing so when even she did not realise it, or when asleep and unable to gather control over her own body. The sorrow gnawed away at her piece by piece, gradually stripping her of her former self and leaving behind hardly even a shell; she was a cheerful child once, curious and eager to learn. She used to engage her dear brother in play and even sometimes confused herself for her wayward twin sister when trying to think quickly. This was not her, not the wolf she was born to be. Yet, it was who she was becoming, slowly but surely and dreadfully.

I am here for you, sister.

Her lips quivered and tail tucked tightly between her thighs, uncertainty seeping into the whirlpool of emotions already circling in her head. She wanted to say that she didn’t want her to be there, that she was fine, but her tongue would speak not even one more lie. Shoulders slumped forward and ears flattened against her head, dreading the idea of saying what she knew she should; Yama knew she should explain herself, that she should seek help and begin healing, but would healing mean forgetting? She thought of Dirge and what he had told her, of the conversation they’d had and of everything she had shared. She remembered that talking about it—about them—had felt good, it had offered her some peace of mind, yet she found herself unable to speak as freely with her own sister.

“You don’t have to be,” said the girl instead, avoiding everything that she shouldn’t. “Your… your babies need you more. They need you to be there for them, not me.” Would pushing her away make her feel better? Would ignoring that which she should confront magically heal her? Deep down, she knew the answers to those questions but refused to accept them. She would much rather follow the telling of her own fabrications, deeming those fallacious thoughts as indisputable truths.

Hydra listened, and could not help the feeling of impatience that was beginning to bloom within her. She was not made for this sort of work, and was beginning to feel as though Yama was simply asking to feel this way by continued to refuse her words... or ignore them. She was not a woman who understood the workings of mental health, and she was half-inclined to agree with Yama. Indeed they did; and they could likely articulate better to her what was the matter than her own sister could, who was wise enough to know better. So Hydra had thought, anyway. 

For now, though, Hydra would try once more. Only her family was offered the full extent of her willingness to be patient, even when irritation was beginning to mount. Yama, Hydra murmured, you can need me, too. There was nothing wrong with this, not when Yama never had before. Hydra paused, considering, before she said: soon, my babies will need you as well. You are their aunt. I do not think they would like to see you hurting, either, hoping beyond hope that this might bring her to, for once, think of a pleasant future rather than holding on to the painful past. 

Hydra could not address her fears if she did not know them; even had Dirge shared with her the conversation between them, she would not betray her sisters trust in him by revealing as much. As it was, Hydra had not yet discussed the event with her husband... and so in this, she was quite in the dark.

You can need me, too.

There was a fleeting moment where her ears perked up and eyes widened, taken aback by the statement. Those words weren’t ones that she thought herself to need until they were presented to her, and then she found herself grasping at them—but was it selfish to do so? Part of her wanted to open up—Yama had never been the type to hide her feelings, not until that awful day—and share her woes, share her feelings and her fears, every thought that crossed through her mind since her parents’ passing. Yet, at the same time, she couldn’t help but feel as if doing so would only cause more trouble than it would good. She could need her sister and she did need her sister but… she couldn’t need her more than the older woman’s children, or more than the pack as a whole. At some point, she had to stand up on her own feet.

And perhaps that point would be forced to come sooner than she ever would have thought, the notion that her nieces and nephews might need her revealed.

“I don’t know how to stop hurting,” she whispered. “I don’t want to feel like this anymore. I want to go back to how things were. I want… I don’t want to be sad anymore.” What would her nieces and nephews think, to see her like this? What would her parents have thought? Up until that point, she couldn’t figure out what she wanted; she used to think that she wanted to join her parents, wherever they may be, but she knew now that, that was never the case. She didn’t want to join them, she wanted to live for them—but figuring out how to live without them wasn’t easy. And in the process of spiraling downward, she lost sight of who she was, of who they must have hoped her to be. She secluded herself, abandoning the rest of her family in favour of self-pity when the event that shook them all should have driven her closer to them. Her time should have been spent with her only remaining brother, her attention given to the newest additions to their family, yet there she remained; alone and desperate for anything she could find to hold onto again.

Yama's admittance was heard; Hydra had no real answer for her. It was not as though she had simply stopped hurting after all. The matriarch was not certain the pain would ever stop... even more uncertain that she wanted it to. What would it mean, once it did? That they were truly gone? Acceptance had yet to truly come to Hydra, though she had embraced all else best as she could. She could remember her mother still breathing, in and out... 

Hydra had remained with her until her final breath was expelled. 

I don't know how to stop hurting. Did any of them? Yama was simply able to give voice to it. Hydra hated it all, truthfully. Why had Speedy done all that she had? If it were not for her, they would still be here... of that she had no doubt at all. The pain might not go away any time soon, she admits, there is no telling, truly. But the days come and go even still. Perhaps one day, the hurting will end, she could only hope... and yet, did not. She was alright to hold onto the pain a little while longer; it was something present to remember them by. 

Hydra's tail lashed as she thought on what her sister said, and she moved to nose her sister. Tell my children of them. Keep them alive in the stories you share, Hydra encouraged with a wave of her tail. She knew things would never be as they were before. Charon and Amekaze were both gone, and their absence left a rift in them all. But her children had come in time to help the healing, and Hydra knew that by Winters thaw and Springs first return, they might come to feel better at the very least.

Silence befell the young Ostrega, giving way for her sister’s words. She listened to each one of them, hung onto the sentences as if they were a lifeline—someday, perhaps the pain of losing them would plague her no longer. Someday, perhaps she may be able to think of their lives without choking up, remember them fondly without a wave of sorrow crashing down around her. Someday, someday…

But, in the meantime, she would do as now both Hydra and Dirge suggested—tell others about them. Teach the new youths of the mountain about their grandparents, share with them the tales of their greatness. For as long as their memory may live, so might they, even if only in spirit. And to this Yama nodded, accepting it as something to ease her troubled mind. “I… I’ll do that,” she said in return, though not yet able to muster a smile to accompany her words. But someday, someday—until then, she would grow the best she could. Until the day came that the pain no longer followed her, she would live on and share their lives.