The Heartwood color me in gold

The shadow listened carefully to the girl's remarks and found a black pit of jealousy had formed in her gut. It was not that she was displeased with Liffey's well-meant upbringing, but more so that she would have liked to have felt the same. It would have been nice to refer to her mother as a troublesome, well-meaning individual with her own unique and endearing quirks. The words felt bitter in her mind and would surely sound the very same if they had been uttered. Still, she listened to her sister speak and nodded her head slowly. Lucy had had enough. She couldn't stomach any more of it, for her own sake.

Then, the question fell between them and her ears swiveled to stand straight, upright, rigid atop her skull. Her blue eyes darted fearfully to the other wolf and she frowned. There was no simple way to answer that question, unless she chanced a lie. The ink hound felt as though it would not have fallen on the tone of convincing, if she did.

“I don't really,” she stated in an offhanded sort of way. It wasn't a lie; Lucy knew very little about her mother, save for the few experiences she could recall. It seemed that few of them were looked back on with fondness, and she did not want that to be the feeling she led with. Surely, it would frighten the other off. “I mean, she's my mother.” The words were almost strangled from her throat. They burned until they touched the air at the tips of her lips and were carried away. Then, the shadow stood rigidly, her head held low and her gaze trained on the features of her sibling.

“But, I don't really know her.”