Hushed Willows and they raise a toast of bulleit rye

Reina’s last post.

She nodded at Reverie’s words about Boone. She finally looked at the large male, a glimpse that her words may have affected him in his entire demeanor; it made her whine ever so quietly, a sort of soft plea to her new leader to not take her fear so personally. 

Reina didn’t want to acknowledge the others, it didn’t feel right. When she should have felt excitement to be around them, she felt hurt and disappointment. If roles were reversed, I wouldn’t have given any of you a wide berth…She noticed how the little black one sat at the heels of Boone, the silent solidarity—and judgment—screaming at her. She had just barely noticed the last one of them to arrive, the one who sat on the outskirts, barely moving a muscle. The lanky male had also retreated, but at least he was decent enough to check on her. But, alas, this wasn’t about her. She didn’t mean to insult anyone, or be the center of all of this attention…It wasn’t supposed to happen like this. Again, He took something from her that was supposed to be good. He broke her.

She closed her eyes and sighed. Her ears focused on the rest of Boone’s speech as he continued, and although it gave her a sense of purpose and want to contribute, she couldn’t help but feel relieved it was coming to an end. Reverie had offered her an out.

“I am sorry, I didn’t mean to insinuate that your husband would hurt me, or that he wasn’t a nice person. It wasn’t him I saw, I—.” She stopped for a breath; these people don’t care. “I am afraid I am not able to speak on it now. I accept the responsibilities bestowed upon me by this pack and will be happy to start learning what you have to offer. I will take my leave. If I am needed, find me at the lake, then.” She turned away from the pack; she didn’t wait for a reply as she padded off to tend to her mental wounds.