Cerulean Cape I can’t tell you anything

indra's stalk turned into a menacing prowl as xan too turned, his posture mirroring her own. how could he? she wanted to snarl, to rip into him -- but then she caught the flicker of surprise in his gaze, and the way in which he halted.

he hadn't recognized her.

they had lived together for how long, and he hadn't recognized her. the redleaf felt a cold rage gurgle in her gut; how many times had she wanted to tell him he had ruined her life, corrupted laurel's -- that he hadn't cared for their offspring, or even cared at all how hard they had struggled just to stay alive?

her throat constricted. while she had willingly left xan behind two months before, she had trusted to never see his face again.

and here it was, haunting -- the ghost that would not quit. her fur bristled, and the harsh bite of her amber gaze was without warmth as it coolly settled on her old alpha.

she was so tired, so exhausted from running. from searching. from trying to piece together the ever unraveling, ever-fraying thread of their patchwork lives. "what do you want, xan?" her tone was despondent, tired even -- and no ounce of joy remained.