Wheeling Gull Isle Look monsieur, where all the children play.

Calling any SweetHarbor kids. John needs a little extra pep in his step. ;) 

John had found himself back on SweetHarbor, stationed up at the main den site. He had been thanking The Lord for the beautiful Autumn day they were blessed with. He then thought to himself, “I wonder where all the children are?” Excluding Dinah, as he knew where she last was. He searched the den-site’s vicinity, looking for the young, smiling faces that children were decorated with.

Ana was sitting outside of the den, staring out at the sea with an expression too pensive to suit her youthful features. She was far too young to remember her home, yet some part of her yearned for it all the same; some part of her knew her birthright.

The woman forged in madness and raven feathers;
the man wrought in iron and mother's blood;

Anathema was a creature of a different sort, spun from silk and sorrows as deep as the sea. But there was no denying her blood.

It was black waters in her veins.

And when she heard those pawsteps, when she felt the shudder down her spine at the realization of a foreign presence, it was black waters in her lungs, filling her throat, pouring from her eyes and she felt herself screaming. Blindly she snapped for his throat, his chest, anywhere, and the water was surging through her and she couldn't stop, she couldn't stop.

Whatever chaos surged through the veins of these darklings, whatever it was that Dinah could not comprehend, she knew of it.
She did not know what it was, and the Lord would not tell her the answer. She had sensed it ever since the day they came to her Isle; they cared not for anyone but themselves with their milky eyes and empty smiles, these children bathed in soot and ash. Their very existence spoke of something dreaded.
And oh, God, how she'd tried to love them.
She prayed for weeks, begging for the answer; she heeded Simeon's gentle words, she taught and smiled and laughed and hugged; and she watches, in this moment, as the garbled war-cry of a heretic hits her ears and through the mist in her eyes she can see the ivory teeth of an abomination; she watches as everything she had worked for crumbled to sand. The trust, the peace, gone.
And yet she did nothing to stop what she saw.
It was wrong, yes, wrong of Ana to attack the innocent man. Or was he innocent? She did not know. Did it matter? Mama and Daddy would be so mad. Did they even care?
Yes yes yes no yes no no no yes—
Frozen is the little redheaded girl, tears welling as snot dribbles down her chin; frozen.

Ana, unexpected but accepted ;)

John had innocently approached the young Anathema, looking to share perhaps some knowledge, or just hang out with someone full of young playful energy. But as soon as he stepped behind her, she lunged for his throat, pearly white razors digging into his neck. He tried to hold his composure, hold back a loud, pained yelp, but a smaller yelp slipped “Aah!” He shook his body, trying to remove her from him. Whining followed, and in one last effort, he took his paw to her, pushing her off and onto the sand. 

The adrenaline had worn off, and he noticed the blood dripping from his neck, and onto the pale sand, along with shedded fur, staining it and his fur. “What did you do that for, Ana?” He asked through clenched teeth, attempting to contain any anger and ill feelings. He knew this was a child, but she was old enough to know right from wrong.

Distantly the sound of Dinah's crying reached her. Yet Ana could not stop herself, not until the man shoved her away forcefully and her skull struck the ground. Her ears were ringing, but finally her vision cleared.

Blood;
had she done this? Her fault — it was her fault —

She fled, choking on her sobs. Covered in John's blood and still dizzied from her fall, she sought @Ava Amara. She didn't know what else to do.

the rallying scream of blackwater rent the air. 

ava arrived with vengeance as her wings. the child’s mismatched gaze apprised the scene — first, her sister at john’s throat. then dinah’s sobbing figure in the dirt. 

it seemed that agony and discord must be her birthright. john flung ana aside. an audible crack sounded as her skull connected with sun-cured ground —

now came ava amara’s ruthless hour. she rose, eyes soulless as a shark, swinging with a bulldog’s toothsome fury towards the man that dared harm her sibling.

Do something.
Her mother's teachings soar in her mind's eye. Strive for good. Do what is right. Trust in God. Violence is never the answer.
John worships God; a holy man, he is, and the youngest of Sweetharbor boil with blood stained black. Ana struck first, as far as she knew. Ana was the perpetrator; she did this to herself.
But where was God right now? Where was He when John swung at Ana? Where was He when Ava, Ava, of all souls, came to her aid? Prayer would not stop this. No, prayer would be no help as the skid of scarlet across the sand below blooms bright.
Never, never should man lay hands on child. Or more importantly, never should man lay hands on Dinah's sister.
The simple shining concept of goodness did not matter as Dinah threw herself into the fray. Teeth churning together, grinding, she attempts to wriggle between Ava and John — herself, a shield, a barrier; her goal being for any of John's retaliations to strike her skin and not that of Ava's.

(And…. Scene. Archiving here.)

Everything was overwhelming John, first the attack, Ava Amara lunging for him, the sobbing Dinah, and the the angry atmosphere. His eyes became Misty, from everything. He jumped back from the young Ava, and as much as he wished he could reason with them, just talk to them peacefully, he fled the scene. He ran as fast as he could, he didn’t look back. He needed to talk with God, and perhaps the adults of the pack as well. But he had to get himself together, pick up his crumbling pieces.

She sought comfort, but Ava did not reach to comfort her; she leapt to defend, and the man fled, and Ana felt herself crumbling. He was gone now. Gone, and it was her fault —

Their fault —

If Ana was tainted by some kind of evil, was Ava not the same? Abel? Tzedeq? She reached for her sister with a low sound in her throat, crooning affection and sorrow twined so closely as to be inseparable. Ana sought to bury her muzzle in Ava's scruff. In this moment she did not think of Dinah, nor the man they'd attacked.

Black waters in their veins; the only love Ana would ever truly know.

three bodies hurled against one; dinah wedged between them, then she and ava too were flung. 

the man took off in a storm of sand. 

all of ava’s senses had been churning in biblical fury; only now was she aware of the thundering growl which flowed uninterrupted from her throat like a causeway’s pounding surf. 

ana reached for her and ava turned, burying herself into her sister’s ruff. her gaze passed possessively from ana to dinah, who barring the tears that wet her face appeared unscathed. 

ava’s blood pounded ruthlessly against her skull. adrenaline spiked its feverish course through her body, every nerve frenzied and alive — and still came that endless growl, rolling and reverberating between the three of them as she stood hunched over them slavering and unsettled.

John had scattered like a wounded and stunned doe, and Dinah was left breathless and haggard. Lips cracked and dry now from heaved breaths, a whimper comes high in her throat as she searches for her sisters with a quick scan of gleaming eyes. Ana, Ava; bloodsisters, inseparable, impenetrable, and outside their circle is Dinah.
Was this how they'd felt, all this time? Rejected? How ignorant she feels in this moment.
Metallic salt is brushed from her mouth in one swoop of her tongue. The throaty growl of Ava feels territorial, spiteful, and she cannot quite tell whether it is for her or because of her.
The redheaded seawolf blows air in a puff from her nostrils. She does not call for Daddy, nor Mama; no. Instead, she sits adjacent to the two girls, eyes soft and steady. A silent allegiance.
For at least they could agree on one thing.

She took to grooming her sister, eyes half-closed in a practiced gesture of calming. Ava was upset, she was unsettled, she was in need. But it would be okay. They had one another; they had...

Dinah. The darkling remembered her belatedly, the perfect pretty redhead who had seemed so kind. Just for a moment. But that nameless chasm still yawned between them, wider now than ever, and Ana found herself eyeing the girl suspiciously for a moment.

Then she sighed quietly through her nose, and edged a little closer to the older girl in a silent show of camaraderie.

each growl spurned from her lips in the manner of a wave sent to shore, and like a wave found its rest against the hard edge of her throat, and rebound and came again --

until at last the final rumble spilled from her jaws, nestling exhausted against her worried tongue. ana brought ava back from the precipice with her gentleness, her comforting touch that set each firebrand nerve back on its rightful path, soothed.

the man did not return -- the snarls directed at his person fizzled out into low breaths.

dinah. ava's eyes sought her a moment and something eclipsed their often hard stare: was it gratitude, understanding, kinship? it did not linger.

ana moved close with a sigh. ava wedged herself between where john had been seen last, and her two siblings. her thin ears were cupped ahead, sharp outlines set against the rounding of her head. 

let him come back -- she dared him -- let him taste teeth anew.

They allow her to stay; they approve of Dinah in their bicolored chaotic glory, even if it was not meant to last.
Hammering breath comes to a slow calm as the dark spiral of Ava curls central to the three girls. Quiet, still, Dinah struggles with the urge to comfort, wrestling with herself in such a way—
Her tongue passes over her lips as one seabrine arm loops over the backs of both younger siblings. I am here, says the gesture; and I love you despite myself.
The pieces don't fit together, and Dinah knows this. But for now she can pretend that they do.