The Heartwood do you remember, how it felt when we were young

arcturus would think of this moment many moons from now. he would think of it often, painfully. and he would think of revui — for never once, had his brother been fully banished from the beta’s thoughts.

he had nothing to add when hydra spoke. she had said it all. she always did. she who arcturus learned from, imitated, idolized. through her mouth came the words arcturus was not strong enough to speak. he simmered, yet listened.

someday, revui might return. arcturus’ expression was bald — too readable — as he looked upon revui. for all the hurt and shock that adorned his brother’s face was duplicated back — trifold even — by the bewildered hurt that the beta’s countenance wore.

then came the crack — the feeble words in the wake of hydra’s implied exile. arcturus looked long and hard upon revui when he registered what had been spoken, and found he did not care to hear his father’s name wielded by blood that had defiled all charon had vied for. it was as if, to arcturus, revui was not deserving to utter such a name - to evoke such memories.

he rose and paused. for a moment he looked as if he might follow after hydra without a word — yet quickly he turned back to revui, expression cold. his tone final.  father is dead, revui.

there was no use evoking the name of their father —  for charon’s reign had ended the moment his body had been given back to the mountain. arcturus turned after hydra, his hackles raised as he slunk away in heated steps.