Shadowwyn Moor moulin rouge

That Bhreac had stayed surprised her. She had survived it, too. Well, it was no wonder; Bhreac was pretty and bright both. Eshe was lovely, too, but in a different way. Most of her family was stark black or white with lovely eyes; she was the tawny, odd one out of the family. Brown-cream-gray mingled to make her collectively agouti in person, and with her bright eyes, often changing from a molten gold to a simple amber in the light, there was nothing incredibly outstanding about her.

"I see," came the words that mimicked her mother when disappointed by something. But she was quick to shake her head as though it would rattle the disappointment away. Hadn't she already resigned herself to their fate? Accepted it? Bhreac was alive!

Still. It was like they had died all over again... she couldn't help that pessimistic prodding that brought her to sigh. Eshe would have to repeat the process all over again, though perhaps her period of denial would last a while longer given the fact that Bhreac was here and alive after all. "They chased me off pretty quick. I didn't even know you were still alive," she admitted. The scent of Bhreac had been scant on the borders. Likely because the new-Canyon wolves were sending the message of their claim and wanted to give off the vibe there had been no survivors. Whatever. It didn't matter what the message was. It was received and they could rest easy in knowing that she would not return there. It wasn't worth it, if her family had for the most part passed.

It looked like it was just her and Bhreac now, and that was a-okay with her. "I'm glad you're alive," it went without saying, but it needed to be said. Eshe felt cruel to have accepted her sisters fate, but not so cruel that she was too bothered by stamping "dead as a doornail" onto the rest of the family not with her. "Really, really glad. I was going to do what I had to do," well, sure! "But I knew nothing would be the same without you." Not as fun, not as bright... the list went on. Eshe had thought of all of this only minutes after fleeing the Canyon packs fangs but afterward had forced any and all thoughts of being an Endore and the family attached away as aggressively as she had been chased from her home. No point in dwelling.

"Anyway I'm joining this pack nearby," she gestured toward the Hollow, where the Moors ran into. "They call me Quill." Her loyalty had shifted from family to the Hollow and this new life, and she had no idea where to find a medium. She had been "Quill" for a couple of months now, but Eshe was who she inherently was. It never occurred to her to be Eshe ever again... she had abandoned old loyalties to adjust to the new ones she would need to make. Now she stood between a rock and a hard place. What would she tell Harlyn? Luke? Andalusia? Mordecai? All those that accepted her?

The truth, she supposed.

But she was more concerned with her sisters opinion of it. "I called me Quill, too. I wanted to let go of what happened." Every part of it. Holding on hurt and hindered her. She got nowhere in the time that she did.