Bearclaw Valley [m] go back to sleep

given the fact that personal space did not come naturally to athalia, she did not necessarily think that her touch would be disliked — and so when it was, she was stricken with shock for a good moment, very visibly a bit confused as if she had been given the wrong signals entirely. perhaps she had been. and normally she would have scoffed or even growled over the command, but despite herself, she listens.
oh, she says, flatness overtaking her tone as she yanks herself away. sorry.
it felt like being a child and suddenly hearing an adult get very, very serious.
she goes eerily quiet for a long while and almost ponders getting up to leave as the vulnerability of this interaction truly begins to gnaw at her. why was she entertaining this? why had she even let this girl into her sacred home? ancelin and ameline would kill her for this. she wants to throw up and yet she cannot stop herself.
not show, she whispers, shaking her head. tell.
she flicks her muzzle back in the direction that they had come from. can't dis-a-ppoint mother. she tell me, get rabbit, and i listen. i kill. i-- feel heart. but, her breath shudders, eyes panning down to her grizzle-coated paws. she never like. always leave. she leave big time when i small, yeah? little. and then she send birds, and the birds give sunlight. but have big problem, big fear, be-cause-- 'cause me not know if mother mother, or if mother--
did any of this make sense? her frustration is visible, evident in the way her nose wrinkles and her gaze hardens. only seconds after she speaks, she asks herself if any jumbled, maddening drivel composed coherent sentences at all — all she can do is hope sobeille understands the gist.
methinks mother fake. methinks she fake, 'cause-- it make no sense, right? mother have-- weird faces, never same face. never same voice. never-- stays. not like an-cel-in.
she shivers, visibly recoiling, body curved into a semicircle of discontent. mother tell me to hurt.