Silverlight Terrace the tell-tale heart

Karst and Avicus; Avicus and Karst. or @Nuak, she supposes, thinking of the name moonwoman had given him.

said moon shines down upon them this night, bathing the open field in a silver glow. it brings out strange hues in her own pelt, almost blue-white, like the heart of a fire. 

what is a name, anyway? Merrick had once called her 'blood-flower.' she rejects it now. 

Ashlar had given her not a name, but a song.

Astara had—

mother. the single word, a yearning thought, hits her square in the sternum, and she pauses in her stalking of a meandering rabbit, her auburn frame slowly sinking down upon the earth. like a wound, spreading across her body. like losing a limb. . .or a part of her heart.

she cannot breathe when she thinks of her mother, so she keeps the dark woman at bay. every so often, though—just like this moment—Astara enters her mind, and Avicus crumbles.

The boy felt unclean.

The moonlight illuminated a shining silver path before them both; he could not put aside the words Kukutux had spoken when they had fled, days ago. He still carried the tusk between his teeth.

Avicus crumbled partway along. Nuak was ignorant until he returned to himself and looked ahead for her familiar shape, only to find it was not there. When he turned to seek her out the girl was behind him instead.

Unsure of what to do, as Nuak was not accustomed to seeing weakness from Avicus, he stood and watched pathetically.

Was this a curse? Was this the moon womans power?

when she looks up again, Karst is watching. she feels suddenly vulnerable. on the ground, before him, in a crumpled heap. he could very well take advantage.

but he won't, and she knows it.

mother, Avicus croaks out. the irony is lost on her, seeing as though Astara had ripped his own dam from this world. she wouldn't have remembered, anyway, but she is utterly blind in her grief, ignorant to anyone else but her, and her mother's inky pelt—

he's still holding that stupid bone. rage replaces grief and it feels better; it instantly feels better.

why take that? she snaps, and lurches to her paws. she sways toward him, lips rippling, twisting, showing little glimpses of polished ivory here and there.

Another child might have seen the innocence in that moment, comisserating with the girl as she ached and cried. Karst held no affection for Avicus. One might say he lacked the capacity for empathy, given that he was an orphan, and that he might relish the chance to witness such bereavement from someone who had, until now, only caused him pain.

His loyalty to Merrick, those promises made, should have spoilt by now; they were not within the confines of the valley, but Karst could not turn his back on them. The one constant in his life was Merrick's will.

But he did not move to comfort the bruin's daughter.

His grip on the tusk only deepens, scoring it with his teeth. Karst could bury it here and be done, but he doesn't want to. The theft was his own doing - an act of sabotage - and it had not been ordered by anyone.

Were the tusk to hold the witch's power, he now claimed it as his own. Such things peppered his mind; but he could not voice this to Avicus, even as she asked after the talisman.

She lurches to her feet and moves as if to strike at him. Angry with his silence maybe, or feeling weak, it does not matter.

Icks menne. Karst states.

He feels his haunches quiver for how close she is, watching the shine of her teeth. He tongues the tusk's surface and then spits it out, only to paw it closer, possessive.

It is precious to her. Without it she will hurt.

her muzzle wrinkles in a sneer. hurt her, Avicus replies. take blood. not bone. it is useless. for him to even think otherwise means he has been corrupted by the likes of her father and this moonwoman.

she pauses her approach, craning her neck, slowly, to look toward the distant rounded slope of the witch's territory.

want. . .to hurt her? she asks, face contemplative. one eye, the closest to him, shifts, lighting upon him in silent query. they very well could. she is no great giant; despite not being up to their physical best, they have been born and raised into violence.

they could hurt her. take from her. together.

He thinks on it a moment.

The woman had offered him a place. She had been kind — but she wasn't to be trusted. Her and her boar-magic. The boy nods.

Hurt her. At the very least it would show the woman that her spells could do him no harm. You're fast. You go first, distract them. I'll think of something.

the gleam in her eyes changes—the violence remains, but its target shifts. no longer is her wrath aimed on Nuak, but on the woman who'd bewitched him. . .or tried, anyway. not well enough, it seems, for he is into the idea as well.

Avicus nods, and turns away, moving a few paces before stopping again. head turns, slowly, regarding him with something like suspicion.

who is she? the yearling asks, brows drawing together. who is she to you? she means. for perhaps this is just an elaborate ruse to ensnare her on the moonwoman's mountain. Karst had always been subservient to her, but as Nuak, and with a bit of nonsense. . .he might be persuaded to think otherwise.

her posture is stiff, awaiting his response.

Who is she?

If only he knew the truth. Already he has called her a witch, taking a piece of her power for himself. Avicus does not believe as he does, has not seen what he has seen, so he cannot reiterate that again. He thinks of what Kukutux had said — and remembers the daughter too.

Her name for me is nephew. She thinks she knows me somehow. She says we are connected, but Nuak is afraid of that connection, more-so than anything. If Avicus were to believe he held a blood connection outside of the valley, what would that mean?

Nuak saw only death for those linked to him; father, mother, brother — he spelled their ruin, bewitched.

Avicus shakes her head, very slowly. no, she says, the single word confident as if she were omniscient. you're from valley. she is not. 

there was no way moonwoman could know Nuak. he belonged to Ursus, just as she once had.

it's moonwoman's bluff, a spell to keep the boy on her side. little does she know that he's already strayed from her spangled, fragrant path; a heart that belonged to the bear could never belong to anyone else. . .and perhaps that was, in some way, why Avicus resisted that spiritual pull so.

she exhales, a brief snort. i go, she says, and trots away, planning her invasion. whether or not he follows—and she struggles whether or not to trust that he will at all—the hunt is on.