Blackfeather Woods i took the stars from my eyes and made a man

why

what a word, what a fucking word. it could be applied to everything, every single moment of her life could be presented with nothing more than- why.

because well, 

why had her mother sold her as a mere baby to those monsters.
why had she even been born if that was her fate.
why had she bore her first scars at a couple of months old. 
why had she killed her first wolf at a whopping six months.
why was she a trained soldier, a murderer who'd witnessed war in all its glory by the time she was a yearling. 
why had she eventually fallen in love.
why had she gotten pregnant.
why let that hope into her life only to steal it all away on that disastrous day.
and why had she escaped? why not kill her too?

the word plays over and over in her head like a broken record. a neverending chorus of why's until she can't bear seeing that stupid face staring up at her from the water's dark depths- her reflection only visible from the moon's silvery slants dancing across the ripples. she grits her teeth savagely, catching her lip so that blood dribbled down her chin and dripped onto her chest- staining the pure fur with its beautiful vibrancy. she doesn't even feel it. 

a low growl breaks free as she swipes viciously at the water, breaking her face apart in the disrupted liquid as she draws back before it can form again, the growls losing their intensity so that it dulls to a soft moan. why did it hurt so much? and she didn't mean the cut on her face, in fact she would've wished it'd hurt more if she was even aware of its presence so it could help drown some of this out. but no, it was like the dream had acted as some sort of bomb being set off and crumbling her carefully built walls so that all the pain she'd supressed since that day hit her now in one great tidal wave. 

she felt like she was gonna die.
she wished she would.

then noise, a presence behind her- and a voice. his voice. not the right his, but his. 

"what's wrong?" 

a scoff shoots from her jaws as she straightens shakily. anger burns deep in her gut now, egged on by all the other negative emotions down there so that it raises its ugly head and spits fire through her whole body. she shakes and turns to face that fucking face. if she'd been herself, able to observe the situation wholly, she'd notice the difference to him, to his voice. she'd realise with surprise that as subtle a change it was, it was present and it revealed something very important. he was being sincere. alas she was not herself and her mind did not catch on to any of the hints and so her defences flared up- presuming he was being his usual dickhead self and using her vulnerability as a chance to mock her. how fucking DARE HE. and how could she let him see her like this, let anyone see her like this.

her tail lashes, eyes blazing as lips peel back into an enraged snarl. "what the fuck do you care?" she doesn't even yell it, it's hissed in a cold sneer. bertók circles above, clearly concerned but aware with the strange unnoticed wiseness only those birds possesed that this was something out of his league. he could be worried for his partner but intervening, at least now, would not help. he'd simply eye the man closely, curious despite his concern as to how he'd take the ghost's outburst. 

her chest heaves with fast breaths as she glares, what did he want with her? what was the point of all his stupid games- why wouldn't he just leave her alone, was he really that cruel that he'd prey on her now? the anger starts to fade and with its departure goes her energy, she falls back on her haunches, glaring off to the side before speaking again; tone hushed as she repeats the question yet somehow making it so much more intimate with the mere removal of a few words; "do you care?"