Redhawk Caldera and you will do a shit on their graves

vesper finally had to admit it: she was angry.

her parents had brought them here— somewhere she hadn't wanted to come in the first place— and then left. maegi, without a word, though father had tried to explain vaguely that there were things she needed to do but that she would be back soon. she wasn't. and then he left, too, either to join maegi or resume searching for prevost. leaving the remaining three of them here, alone. even vesper had to admit, they weren't being the very good parents she had fought to convince peregrine they were.

she was angry at them. she was angry that she had been wrong.

it occurred to her that she might leave, no longer under their watchful eyes— but she doubted phox, this pack, her apparent family, would allow it. once again, she had choices, but none of them were real.

vesper paced the edges of the territory, attempting to burn her anger away with the use of her muscles, but what she really wanted was a fight. she had never been taught how to express her feelings, and the lack of ability to release them had her feeling like she might explode. fuck, she growled to herself. fucking parents, fucking family, FUCKING LIFE.

Truth be told, Phox had always been a lover, not a fighter. That was Towhee's department. Heck, even Fennec was a better fighter than him! Still, he knew an angry child when he saw one. Vesper could swear all she wanted that she wasn't a Redhawk, but he saw it clear as day. He'd seen it in Towhee before, in Fennec, in Niamh, and now in Vesper. Pure, unfiltered rage.

She was nearing half a year, and while she was small, Phox knew even small wolves could do damage if they really wanted to. And yet... maybe it would be a way to connect, or at least let her release whatever it was she seemed to have against him. He had never stepped in and tried to be her father, but he had tried to be there for her in whatever capacity she needed. Right now, it seemed pretty clear that she needed a punching bag.

Phox said nothing as he approached, though he took an obvious defensive stance as he stood there, his tail lashing as he awaited her reaction.

of course it was phox, of all wolves, that found her like this. if it had been father, her anger might have melted away in an instant and she would have collapsed against him, burying her face into his fur like she had when she was younger and life was simpler. but it was the Not-father instead, and vesper felt a deep pain in her chest that she didn't know how to vocalize in words. a cross between a snarl and whine escaped from deep in her chest instead as she felt heat in the corners of her eyes.

he probably expected her to run, and she did, too. it was how vesper had handled most of their interactions thus far. but she saw the unmistakable invitation and she paused, trying desperately to make sense of her emotions. gratitude that for once, an adult in her life was anticipating her needs and was offering support— not trying to talk her out of it, not silently demanding that she stifle her emotion in favor of theirs. more anger that it was phox, not mother or father.

angry that perhaps peregrine had the right of it all along.

this all roiled within her for less than a millisecond before vesper inhaled deep, emptied her mind, and charged the father she was a mirror of. a sound of rage escaped her as she darted forward, and as she closed the distance, vesper lunged at phox's shoulder with teeth flashing.

She accepted, and Phox was not quick enough to move out of the way. Whether or not he had been slow on purpose or not... well, that's one of those things we'll just never know for sure. What he did know was that his shoulder seared with pain where Vesper's teeth landed a blow. She drew blood, but it was merely a flesh wound. He could tell she had been wounded many times over, and those wounds would never show scars. He had them, too.

Phox pushed himself away, reeling back. He set himself up again, this time circling her slowly, his good shoulder toward her.

Again, he said.