Bearclaw Valley just have the strength to know you're wrong,

indra's question did not ease the hardness of her posture, nor soften the coldness of her gaze. she watched as he shifted - perhaps uncomfortable under the weight of her heavy fury (unlikely) or perhaps, simply an idle gesture made to ease from lulled silence back into conversation.

his explanation was at best unsatisfactory to the woman - to the small girl inside of her, that had been left alone bewildered in the wilderness. his words fell short of their noble thrust and sank into the ground; it weakly stank of feeble justification. indra thought it strange he had not informed her first he was leaving; indra didn't believe him.

again she caught that malodorous whiff of something darkly familiar.

it stank of Reek.

when she looked upon him again she was not thinking of the Stigmata that had coursed and hunted wordless besides her; she was not thinking of the powerful predator questioned her logic and oft tested her patience, or the man that stood before her. she was thinking of Reek.

"you left us, you bastard." she snarled, her limbs snapping into sudden motion driven by abandonment far deeper than the shallow wound Stigmata had inflicted. if Stigmata's departure had left a cut, her parents' had left a chasm. this wound was deeper, buried in between her gurgling heart and straining ribs. a nameless scar kept among the lightless space of sinew and viscera that had until then, been hidden by bone and gut and tissue.

and now it all spilled loose; a blackened, raw torrent.

it seemed in that brief window of time where she flung herself upon her deserter that she planned to eviscerate him: her teeth had been bared and her body rounded to drive into him -- yet in the moment it appeared she would collide with his frame her limbs lost their strength and she fell against his form in a limp heap, all volition driven from her exhausted body.