Blackfeather Woods lavender
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All Welcome 

To say she is scared would be an understatement. Terror is still a big factor of her everyday life. A noise just a tad too loud causes her to flinch as if it is Him to come around the corner and end everything. All the threats to end her life, that she is not of use to Him, ring in her ears day in and day out. Even things He did not say come across in His voice and she struggles to find her true reality. Without her sight, she can’t look for Him. She’s long since forgotten what He looked like, lost in the trauma of their first encounter.
 
They are demons in you, she hears, ears flicking back against her head. She tries to shake the voice free but it inevitable, permanently dwelling inside her. She’ll give birth and He’ll return, slaughtering her where she lay and taking His prize with Him. The woman shudders at the thought, shaking out her fur and curling up as small as she could make herself, tucked away in the shadows of the glen.
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astara had only just slipped from under relmyna's watchful eye -- well, what she had really done was run until her mother was fed up with chasing her. sensing the coast was clear, astara leapt from the scramble of ferns that concealed her and contently strolled down an unfamiliar path at a jaunty walk.

the little escapist was not alone for long; she froze with her floppy ears perked as she heard a shudder ahead. curious and not at all as afraid as she should be, she stepped towards the huddling bundle of fur with her tail held stiff alongside her spine. something about this female seemed a little strange, and astara felt a chill climb her reedy spine as she saw dark voids where eyes should be.

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It takes too long to notice the clumsy steps of a child and it isn’t until she feels her presence. She jerks at the realization, turning her head a little and uncurling enough to put one paw out in front of her for balance. Ears cupped forward for a moment, trying to leaning, before they fall back against her head that she lowers to the ground. Licking her lips, she leans forward for the twitch of her nose to take in the scent. It reminds her a bit of the other mother but she hasn’t been around her children, only aware of their presence by the smell the other carries with her. After a moment, she parts her mouth and offers a soft, confused chuff.
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there were few words in astara's command, and unsurprisingly, she had no word for the sight before her. it upset her -- that battered body, the wrongness of it. as if the life had been sucked from the creature's marrows and left propped in its place was the hollowed vision of coarse fur draped over bone. instinctively the girl sucked back as the agouti woman rose -- her eyes fastened on the dark and swimming holes that had no feedback, no emotion in their depths.

she had no words, and thus, could not ask 'what happened to your eyes?' a tremor overcame her and astara was painfully aware that she wanted her mother. quietly, the girl whimpered - a soft and piteous sound that announced her discomfiture.

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Nothing comes from the other. The woman that helped care for her wounds had no words and perhaps, if this is her child, it is the same too. Her lips part to ask but not a sound comes out and she closes her mouth, allowing herself to shrink a little more. Her legs stay close to the ground, tucked beneath her lying form, and she lowers her head to the ground. Any measure she can prove she is no throat is taken and gently, her tail thumps against the ground. Her own body has started to swell with children she does not want but that does not erase the fondness she has for others not sired by monsters.
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the beaten vision before her, a rough caricature of a wolf, instilled great terror in astara. it was mostly the eyes that did the child's bravery in -- without rounded pupils and the bright gleam of iris and pulp. two vacant, staring holes that innately the girl knew were wrong to have been absent.

her heart beat in her chest rapidly as she watched the she-wolf's mouth open -- as if to say something, yet nothing came. and then she fell closer to the ground, as if pushed by some unseen hand. astara had no words for the intensity in which she detested the she-wolf's missing eyes, she was only aware of being incredibly uncomfortable with beholding their empty sockets.

not even the stirring of the brutally battered woman's tail could have elicited a friendly reaction from the girl -- she choked, another low whimper uttered from her throat as she stared wide-eyed at the woman.

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The next few seconds are silent except for the sound of her heart beating in her ears—or is it the girl’s? Ocra’s ears twitch, unsure where to lie to make the girl feel more comfortable but nothing seems to work. Awkward settles into her bones and she turns her head away; if the girl will not move from her space, then she will. Hopefully she avoids the direction the girl stands, turning against the latest whimper. Her head hangs low and she whines herself, turning all the way around until she feels the glen wall on the opposite shoulder, beginning her retreat from the child.
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astara stiffened as ocra first looked away, then turned her maimed form to leave. it was not until the agouti's beaten backside was to the girl before she moved; somehow, those blackened eyes facing away from her seemed to restore some semblance of puppyish courage. somehow, it was as if witnessing those soulless voids that astara felt the life sucked from her, and similarly, felt an oppressive weight lifted when the woman's head was out of view.

curious, but not courageous enough to quick-step behind the retreating she-wolf, astara rose slowly on her lanky limbs and followed after as quietly as she could. unfortunately, she lacked the stealth of a seasoned wolf, and was plenty loud in her stalking.

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The puppy does not take the hint and she sighs, but does not stop yet. Her steps are careful, moving along through the glen. The anxiety of the child behind her gives her a little stumble, unable to quite remember the path as easily. Her paws occasionally tangle up in underlying brush or trip over exposed roots and stones. If she can’t get rid of her, what is she to do? Call for her caretaker? Her ears twitch and she resists the urge to turn and peer over her shoulder—such a hard habit to break—so she comes to a stop and points her face to the ground. A long moment and she’s silent, before quietly offer a plea: “please go.”
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astara's target, freshly stopped and curiously bent down to the ground, uttered something the girl did not understand. she tilted her head in confusion, ears flopping to the side as she did so. there was not much she understood at all about the woman; why was she beaten? why did she look the way she did? where were her eyes?

astara wanted to know these things, but she lacked the language to speak them. all the same, the broken form instilled a sense of anxiety in the girl, and suddenly afraid whatever had taken ocra's eyes might take her own, astara fled back towards her mother.

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