The Sunspire and when they faded, they died in the night

her father's body lay cooling near the borders, and methodically she cleaned the blood from her muzzle, her chest. she had no interest in even attempting to hide what she'd done, nor was she ashamed, afraid. it was not her actions she sought to shroud but just what had spurned them on, the cold, hopeless fury that itched still beneath her pelt. that was something to reflect on later, a thought to hide away until she could pull it out and examine it thoroughly. likewise, so would morals be examined.

in her carefully grooming did she find the time to pull together an explanation, should one be needed, to become less aware of the way her blood pounded. the beginnings of a headache pressed at her temples, and rapidly fading adrenaline had her feel heavy; so different from the cool focus of her rage, it's warmth and sureness. again, a later thought, one much lower on her priority list.