Ankyra Sound If I were mixed up with you, I'd be the talk of the town.

Nyx said nothing. In her furious state, she thought acerbically that that was par for the course—when had Nyx really ever said anything to her? Most often they were silent around one another, or Wylla was talking and Nyx was silent. Lycaon, on the other hand, insisted that Nyx was hurt and that Wylla had to help her. She was beyond angry with her current situation and wanted nothing more than to just keep on going and not look back.
But he was her brother. And, temperamental and hormonal and hateful or not, Wylla wasn't heartless. For all her blunders and failures, she did care about her pack mates. Or, well, did before.
She turned in a huff and took a few strides back in their direction, squinting harshly. "Okay, fine," she snorted, "but then I'm leaving for a while. And I'm not leading anymore." She snatched back her dark ears as she crowded near to Nyx, surveying her injuries as she added, "apparently I'm not good enough for the respect of those crusty bastards making my shore their home, so fuck 'em, they can have it. Worthless pieces of shit. They both deserve the heart attack it'll cause them for screwing with me." And she? Well, she would live out her days in the way she'd always intended—getting fat off their efforts without lifting a finger to help them, much like Kierkegaard and Caiaphas had, without repaying her at all in her ever-so-unbiased opinion, taken advantage of her kindness in letting them stay.
Damn it all. She should have wrung those kids' necks the second they were born. She should have run them out of the Sound for defying her by getting knocked up. She should have held them captive and not let them have their way all this time. She should have... should have...
"What happened to you?" she asked Nyx, voice clipped but softening slightly.