Neverwinter Forest on a black throne reigns upright

The relentless weight of Rian’s self-inflicted guilt was a hard thing for Cypress to combat — after all, he was busy keeping his own demons at bay. He figured it would be better to just drop the subject, move on to a topic that didn’t involve lost wolves and hurt feelings, but aside from Alya — a subject that was particularly off limits — lost wolves and hurt feelings were pretty much the only things Cypress could truly focus on.

Sharp ears fanned attentively forward as Rian drew nearer, and although the raven stiffened almost imperceptibly at first, he held his ground and accepted the older male’s camaraderie. Mirroring the O’Malley boy’s actions, he ghosted forward a step, his taller frame finding a position of easy neutrality that instinctively put his narrow skull some degrees lower than his cousin’s. “Leave?” he repeated, his sulphureous eyes quizzical. As awful as it felt to admit it, the idea was tempting. Still, the last Frostfur’s response was automatic as he replied woodenly, with a distinct lack of conviction, “I can’t. My paw — ”

Oh, no. We’ve been through this; you don’t do this. Get it together.

Sucking in a swift, painful breath, “My mama and paw made this place,” the crumbling effigy confessed tightly, “and I’m scared that if I leave it, I’ll — I’ll only remember them that way.” A shudder ran its way from the tip of Cypress’ nose down to the end of his tail, and his attempt to suppress it whittled his angular shoulders into jagged peaks rife with the stygian thorns of his hackles. “It gets hard to remember things they did or things they told me or the way they laughed,” he choked out. “I just remember them on the ground — all cold and bloody — and their eyes were open.” That last part was something that Cypress could never seem to get over. He looked wretchedly up at Rian, his lantern eyes unusually bright. “I think,” he said in a low, quiet voice, “maybe I should’ve been the one to — ” His breath hitched unevenly on the word he couldn’t say, the little gasp tacking itself on the end of the “to”, prematurely fracturing the long vowel sound like a glitched sound byte. For a long moment he was silent.

When he had regained control of his traitorous emotions, a telltale glitter in his sulphureous gaze, “I want to — I think,” he admitted reluctantly in a hoarse whisper. “You mean — together?”