Firefly Glen You belong somewhere you can feel free

It was true that Fennec was trying to make Bronco feel better by calling herself out; it was a tactic he was well used to, no doubt.  She put herself down in a variety of ways all the time, but never in a way that seemed belittling.  Bitch, fucked up, witch, blind, a mess.  Fennec's secret was that none of these to her were a bad thing.  At times they weren't great, but overall, they were just what she was.

Being separated from the pack, getting lost, and nearly dying alone had fucked her up.  She didn't talk about it now, but it was that she thought about when he spoke of his own trauma.  There were certain things you went through and couldn't come out of unchanged.  Before that she'd been content with following Fig to the ends of the earth; after that, she couldn't bear the thought of depending on anyone that much.  Not for anything.  When everything in your life could disappear as soon as it was out of earshot, how could she ensure she was never alone again?

She couldn't.

So she fought.  She struggled, she learned, and she got better.  She learned to settle for the things she could do, and in the end, she'd found she enjoyed them more than she thought possible.  Fennec had found a way to make herself valuable, had learned to defend herself to the point where Niamh didn't worry about holding back, and had proven herself capable of surviving the world without her family.  Now they wouldn't need to worry about her, and she wouldn't need to worry about being a burden to them.  She could have the rug pulled from under her at any time and remain on her paws.  She couldn't expect them to wrap their lives in hers forever.  No one does that.

She listened quietly as he spoke, but as he did she recalled Sugar Glider.  I have a secret.  Was this what she'd been talking about?  At the time she'd been annoyed because the girl wouldn't shut up about something she was completely unwilling to elaborate on; now she grudgingly admired it, if she'd been keeping it for Bronco.

Fennec felt him move in closer and pulled back instinctually.  'Here.  Feel.'  She'd never felt another wolf's face like that, not even her family members'.  She'd never had a reason to, or a curiosity.  Voices were her color, and she could tell everything she needed to know from a wolf's stride and their tenor.  There were perhaps times she'd wondered what other wolves meant when they spoke of attractiveness, and maybe even times when she'd wondered where she qualified.  Luckily, she was too blind to really need to worry about that sort of thing.

And weren't witches meant to be ugly anyway?

She breathed out a huff of air.  Fine.  She let her chin meet his nose and softly ran her muzzle over it, feeling for the scars.  The last time she'd done something similar had been when she'd cleaned Niamh's wounds, and before that, Towhee's.  This was different though, because faces had more to offer than a shoulder or a side.  She could feel the small break in the fur and had the thought - I wonder if I have any? - before continuing.  When her cheek met his she pulled back.  After a moment of silence - Did you kill him?  She knew the answer, but from the guilt she felt lay behind the statement he'd made, she wondered if he was as sure as she was.