Bearclaw Valley the masque of the red death

backdated to yesterday bc of the Earp thread today

something has been gnawing at her since the confrontation in the meadow. not in a bad way, necessarily. mostly just curiosity run rampant, occupying daily musings. it's gotten in the way of physical focus—spoiled spars and distracted from hunts—and it has ruled her mind for long enough.

a bright pop! as she wrings the rabbit's neck, blood welling against the tight hold of her teeth. Avicus drops the prey and stares at it for a long moment. limp, broken, dead. so small and pathetic against the dying grass. she stands alone between two trees, having chased the creature from open ground into thicker foliage. the shadows cloak them both.

limp, broken, dead. was that how she had looked, when Merrick had taken her life?

Avicus swallows the thought for now, washing it down with rabbit. she devours the thing like it's the only food left on earth, meat and blood and bone all together. her lips are stained red as she finishes, and she doesn't even pause to lick her chops before lifting her muzzle and calling for @Merrick, wherever he may be.

it is time to kill the curiosity before curiosity kills the cat.

staring toward the distant mountain, thinking of donovan around and within his flesh, and without and outside his heart. never a true affection between them, for merrick was incapable of it and had never attempted with any but his blackbird. she had been collecting an impressive compilation of new scars, each one highlighting her feral majesty.
the red girl, calling for her father.
it was not a word merrick liked to think; it was not a term he enjoyed, even after his acceptance of their rotund little weaknesses. father; something destroyed by tadec. and something affected by what laurel had spat to him, that maddened bitch. the bearprince would never admit such, but when he blinked at times, gaze filling with darkness a moment, it felt as though his crimson cub flared suddenly and horrifically into indra.
"you've killed again," merrick smirked as he melted into her presence. avicus; phoenix;

as her father approaches, she begins to clean herself. tongue along teeth, lips, the blood acrid in her mouth. she nods at his observation, eyes flickering toward the scant remnants of the rabbit. not her first kill, nor her last. she wonders how many creatures will die at her fangs in her lifetime.

she wonders how many have died at her father's.

she isn't back. she's dead, forever. i put her in the fucking ground.

who's Indra? Avicus asks without preamble. she knows very little, but what knowledge is there disturbs her. it is the name that the raving woman keeps calling her—and the name of someone who is dead. one of the many, she thinks, dead at her father's fangs.

but why?

for a long, malevolent moment, merrick peered at his bloodstained girl. he did not enjoy the red look of her smudged in red speaking a name that evoked red and autumn and his jaws around the failing red throat of h —
lip lifted; he grappled with the urge to strike her for daring to repeat what his mad bitch aunt had said that day, then let it ebb from him and settled his haunches to the earth. 
"i will tell you one time. and then never — never — say that name to me again." remaining eye blazing into her own, the purpled spin of her mother and he feared indra might see through the pupils of the little murderer into his own heart. "do you understand?"

she doesn't like the look in her father's eyes. it passes. . .but it was there, nonetheless. for the first time, she feels genuine fear of him, and drops her gaze, nodding fervently. 

no. she doesn't understand. but she knows that if she does not comply, she may face the same wrath she's seen Merrick mete out to others. her stomach twists, flips, clenches tight. the instinct to survive has kicked in. fight or flight — but she can do neither. she must know the truth about Indra.

with a slightly quavering inhale, Avicus looks up again, waiting for him to speak once more.

another long moment, another inhale. "indra was my mother." the words felt sullen to him, poisoned by some weakness, as if admitting there was one before him would somehow lessen his esteem. but avicus knew better, he felt. "the woman you met was her sister. aunt laurel." a bitter, faraway look in the single eye now that pierced through his crimsonal child but saw nothing.
"one day, aunt laurel, who was shit at keeping her children together, told my mother that they were leaving. decided for the both of them. and indra, because she was fucking weak," he hissed, "left me. she never came back." tonguetip to ripped lip. 
"i was born to her in this valley. where she left me was not far. where i found here was that meadow of ours," teeth gleaming in a glasgow grin. "she'd never come back for me. just resumed living her life."
a shaking breath,
his gaze fixated upon avicus — 
"so i took it."
a soft mummified laugh. 
"i killed indra."

she is rapt, fixated upon Merrick's face as he tells the tale. she is thinking of her own mother as he describes Indra's weak decision to follow her sister.

what would she do if Astara left her behind? Avicus loves her mother more than anything, more than anyone. killing her is unfathomable. what would it take to reach the level of bitterness that Merrick had found in order to slay Indra? how long must the anger foment before it boils over into matricide?

she does not blame him. she, too, has reacted out of anger. has killed (albeit small, inconsequential creatures) out of anger. 

but to kill one's mother?

Aunt Laurel, she starts, wincing preemptively as she thinks she may face his wrath for saying another forbidden name. why did she call me In— nope. . . .her name?

he noted her correction; it soothed him further from the earlier mention. merrick, thus lulled by her obedience, was less reluctant to answer. "because you look like her," the bearwolf said plainly. "but you are not her. laurel's mind snapped; she is insane."
the irony of it, dissolving like glitter into the texture of his brain.
"she had the same red coat." 
by telling avicus, it would not come to pass, he hoped; would it discourage her? change her way of being?
he was silent, watching her.

Avicus looks down, considering her pelt with a troubled frown. it's not the first time it has bothered her. she has longed for the shadowy fur of her mother and brother—even Merrick's burnished colors would suffice. her pelage is too bright; it burns against the green of foliage (and will, unbeknownst to her, be even more conspicuous in the snow). 

and now. . .this. an additional burden to bear. the pelt of weakness, of deceit. of Merrick's mother.

but: 

she is dead, Avicus says flatly, looking back up at her father. her expression is stern, jaw set stubbornly. she knows death, and dead things—she knows that life, once dead, will breathe no longer.

she is not Indra, because Indra is dead. Merrick has told her so, and she has no reason to not believe him.

i am not dead.

avicus spoke.
merrick's distraught features unplucked from one another, a paper smoothed through the reversal of a time machine. death comes for all of us, sparrow, came the flat chuckle inside his head; how many times had he come close? even now, there was nothing to suggest that merrick was not trapped in some waking dream.
"you are not dead," the bearwolf repeated. "you are alive. so alive. you can breathe the air," and here he demonstrated, single eyelid fluttering shut a moment. "and she cannot. death is hers. life is yours."

she has said the right thing. she watches as Merrick's face relaxes, and she, too, feels some of the tension leave her. still troubled, sure—she will ruminate over this for some time. not for any interest in Indra, but surely for the unconditional, unbreakable love she bears for her mother.

but if her father is pleased, it pleases her—if only because that horrific look from before is vanished.

alive, Avicus repeats, and lets out her breath on a sigh. but death is hers. not to be, but to take. just as Merrick has taken lives, so has she. so will she. there is no greater thrill.

she bows her head in silent thanks, and then glances at him, indigo gaze gleaming. hungry? she asks. there are plenty of hares in the field; they should make light work of them as a team.

"yes." but it was not the hunger of prey that stole into merrick now, raked teeth along his spine. whatever his red-girl wished, however, the bearwolf would grant; whatever blood would slake her. for she belonged to him, to the possessiveness of whatever he could muster that was akin to love.
the sound of her voice surprised merrick in a way he had not expected; avicus had always given more talk than her wordless mother, but she used her own as punctuation. blood. dead. alive. pride swelled into the places between his bones, and he strode out into the field, jerking his scar-wrapped muzzle to indicate she should choose their quarry.

she rises to all four paws and trots after him, and then ahead of him, striding long-legged into the open. with one look back, Avicus summons her father—and then breaks out into a steady lope, heading to the nearest (to her knowledge) warren.

they will eat well today, and the thought cheers her. it chases away her thoughts of Indra's demise—

for now.