Firefly Glen born of cages

@Rian

Kitsch very rarely left the forest, nonetheless West’s side. Kitsch found the woman to have quite a nurturing, motherly presence and Kitsch thrived underneath it. The pearl was a girl who needed to be taken care of — coddled, even — and West even seemed to appreciate it too. With Libeccio to safeguard them, who’s masculine presence she’d come to tolerate [if not somewhat enjoy], what else could go wrong? The feeling of loneliness had not touched the girl since their establishment in Neverwinter Forest [which was something she couldn’t say for Teaglaigh], even though the pack seemed remarkable absent. Kitsch didn’t care; she liked life this way, without the burden of a court and a kingdom to feign government of. It was her wish come true; the trio, just the three of them: West, herself, West’s brother …. oh, and Ondine. 

Though she was in brighter spirits, there was a shadow of doubt that threatened to consume her. Often times, at night, Kitsch found herself lamenting the fact that she was feeling better at all — as if she didn’t deserve to feel such feelings. Her body had healed, for the most part: the bite marks that besmirched the nape of her neck had all but scarred over; with time, they would undoubtedly heal without a trace. Such a skilled healer she was lucky to have! Her thighs and stomach had recovered with the fervor of youthful resiliency, and the swelling of her ribcage subsided, but still the spectre in her mind followed her, haunted her from the shadows, whispering to her a constant reminder of her worthlessness.

It was wet that day. West was nowhere to be found. For the first time since encountering the shivering Prialux, Kitsch quitted the forest and ventured south to a place Kitsch knew well — the glen that lay next to the heartwood. The grove had harbored the trio while she convalesced; the girl did not have a skilled sense of direction, so she not dare stray where she hadn’t been before. But the glen was nice enough without any newness to it, and plus the recent rains would eliminate any scent trail to tell West of her leaving. So with any hope, Kitsch could skirt around her madame and return unpunished — West didn’t like it very much when Kitsch left.

So Kitsch ran through the rain, delighting in a jaunty run and loving how her body did not sting from the movement.