Noctisardor Bypass dulasei

Mature Content Warning

This thread has been marked as mature. By reading and/or participating in this thread, you acknowledge that you are of age or have permission from your parents to do so.

The participants have indicated the following reason(s) for this warning: morbid imagery of decay

set for tomorrow morning june 7 <3

the hare crawled with a festoon of blistering maggots.
three days ago she had woken to find the limp small thing left behind by ava, and had sent a prayer of gratefulness to the god whom had brought the girl to the island so long ago.
the day went on; she did not try to seek her oldest two out until later in the afternoon, assuming they enjoyed their space from her and the little ones, especially as the pups roamed more and more.
but she found both ana and ava gone. 
trepidation vied with logic; it was natural for wolves of their age to depart and come back, even for spans of time — wasn't it?
their childhood had been spent in flight and hunger; heda stood in the silent forest and considered she knew nothing about half-grown or grown children.
she had only her assumptions, and retreated to the den, tense but forcing herself to accept something she did not quite see as truth.
during the introspection of the day, she forgot to eat.
the second brought heda out into a patrol, one that found the winding trails of her daughters and where they had faded.
her stomach clenched, but she spent the next several hours mired in the same circular denial: they had gone. they would be back.
she did not sleep. hunger woke her in the night, but it was fear which drove her across the shadowed borders, to find the trails and see them dissolved further.
it's too early to know they won't be back!
but it wasn't.
morning greyed the skies over rivenwood before heda limped back, stained with mud and her paws sore from briar's lash — it's too soon to know.
but it isn't.
dawn on the third day, dawn on the day of revelation, dawn on the hour of recompense and resurrection.
heda found her doorstep cold and the hare moving in some horrid parody of dance.
she slammed shut the proverbial door and wept against it.