The Bracken Woods we were diamonds, now we’re dust

It was the one time in his life he had seen Masquerade be selfish.

And it had been blindsiding.

The wound was scabbed over now. Life went on and they filled in the gaps.

He sees the stress in her brow, her words flow out of her like a waterfall. The explanation suffices—her exasperation is enough of an apology for him. What's done is done.

Hey, hey- It's okay. He coaxes, his eyes are calm, cool. Veiled in a look what you did to yourself kind of moroseness.

He sees no use in chastising her further. She burned her bridges, her price would be to mend them. And that was penalizing enough.

Still, it was odd, being above her; in rank, maybe a bit of moral superiority.

For all his life, he looked up to Masquerade. It was her who he saw as having raised him. She worked so tirelessly to keep them together—

And then she left.

Maybe it was something hardwired into the Redtails; to drift. Somehow, the Rise always called them back.

The Berserkr offers a nudge of his snout against her shoulder. We'll never be strangers, Masque. 

Come on, let's go back. Show me what you've done with the Ridge. He suggests, hoping to redirect his sister's restless mind.