The Bracken Woods She

They didn’t want to see or talk to anyone, so Masquerade departed the rise and headed east. As soon as they set foot on Nova Peak, they stopped and looked upward, seeking the overlook where Avicus had found refuge. Masque’s heart sank at the reminder and they turned, hastening away.

They walked for a long time, until their leg protested. Then they limped a little further, finally coming to rest in a small forest at the foot of the familiar glacier. As soon as their feet stopped moving, Masque collapsed.

“Exhausted” wasn’t a strong enough word to describe how they felt. Yet they were also restless. While their body grew still on the cold ground, their mind raced. They relived every agonizing moment of the past several days, though one in particular gnawed at them. And it wasn’t the one Masque might have expected.

“I don’t know what came over me. I don’t even want those things…”

Their mind turned to New Snow and they wondered if she was, even now, creating new life with her mate. Redd had given her blessing and the Wealda’s word was law. Masque wondered if their sister knew those two were keeping a den somewhere other than the rise.

Masque was on her feet in a flash of fury. Teeth gnashing, shoulder throbbing, she stalked toward the expansive stretch of Bracken Woods. She needed to find something to kill.

After the altercation, his goal was to seek out Masquerade.

They’d disappeared, downtrodden and injured. 

He tracks their path diligently, they were venturing farther from the Rise than he expected. Concern begins to line his brow as he realizes how erratic their trail is becoming. He picks up the pace to try and catch up.

Closer and closer, he follows until the scent is fresh and he is certain they are within earshot.

Masque, He calls into the woodland.

Someone called her name. Masquerade bristled, halting in her tracks and squinting in the direction of her brother’s voice. Why was he here? She wasn’t ready to talk to anyone yet. She needed time to process, work out some of these feelings for herself. She had given so much of herself to him, to the others, to the rise. Couldn’t they give her a moment’s peace?

She called to mind the image of Mulherin nuzzling Redd. Hurt and jealousy speared through her. It didn’t even make sense. If he hadn’t paid his respects to the new Wealda, Masquerade would’ve insisted. His quick fealty was a good thing. Why, then, did that vision haunt her? Why did it crack open her heart?

Masque did not respond to his call. She did not move. She remained rooted to the spot, trembling.

All he could hear was the whisper of the wind, rustling the branches overhead.

No answer.

It was a test, moreover. His poised tail goes slack, he’s crestfallen.

The boy puts his nose to the ground once more, and continues patiently searching for his sibling. He is quieter, more methodical this time. 

Not long, he espies the outline of a wolf. He ducks down and stalks toward it.

In her mind, she screamed, Leave me alone!

But Mulherin was both a gifted tracker and a good brother, so Masquerade knew she hoped in vain. She heard him edging closer and remained motionless, only her ears flicking as his footsteps neared. He approached from a perpendicular angle but she didn’t look that way until silence fell, heralding his arrival.

Finally, she dragged her eyes up to him. They skirted over his face, quickly scanning his expression, before dropping away. Even if she’d had the will or energy to speak, Masque didn’t know what to say. Her body tensed as she wondered what he might say.

It was them.

They didn’t acknowledge him as he approached.

It was eerie, seeing them this way. They meet his gaze for a moment before withdrawing. A dead silence envelopes them. 

It doesn’t feel right to break it; to speak. Words couldn’t make anything any better.

If allowed, he’d wander closer, offering a lick to their face before moving to examining their injured leg.

He didn’t speak, either. For the first time she could remember, an awkward silence stretched between Masquerade and Mulherin. The noise in her head felt more amplified for it, devolving into wordless projections of deepest angst.

When he inched closer, Masque turned her face away from him. Why wasn’t he taking any of her cues? Perhaps she needed to give him a sign he couldn’t ignore. Her chest rumbled and she thought, Get out of my face, right as his tongue pressed against it.

Shortly after, his eyes drifted to her leg. The injury wasn’t obvious when she crouched like this, concealing the limp. Beneath her gray fur spread a livid bruise where first the elk had hit her, then Redd. The pain amounted to nothing compared to her inner turmoil, yet his show of concern quelled her growl.

She straightened her leg to make it easier for him to see, then stared at the side of his face. Her thoughts never stopped racing. Did he really think Redd was the worthiest? Yes, she’d won their fight. But it was one fight, a single show of strength, versus the Caru’s long history of lending quiet strength to the rise.

Masque grimaced. This was hardly the first time she’d questioned the ways of the rise and whether she fit the mold. Mulherin could even testify to that. But these thoughts, these feelings, felt particularly treacherous. And she was helpless to control them.

A throaty rumble signified his embrace wasn’t welcome. 

The most pressing concern of his was their leg. After all, they had no healer. If anyone had healing knowledge, it was Masquerade themself, and he didn’t think it was feasible for them to manage that alone.

In the least, upon inspection, he doesn’t think the wound is overly severe.

He wants to speak but doesn’t know where to start. There was so much to debrief, and they didn’t seem in the right mindset for any of it.

I’ll stay with you. Is all he says, sitting.

She knew she could only control herself… although even that was called into question. She couldn’t explain it to herself, much less anyone else. All Masque knew was that something about New Snow’s proestrus had flipped a switch deep inside her, something instinctive, primal and utterly impossible to resist in the heat of the moment.

Redd had literally beaten it out of her yesterday, yet here the ugly feeling was all over again, no weaker for her distance from the trigger. Mixed in with her anguish over losing her mother, her own ethos had become so volatile that she didn’t even recognize herself.

Her lips pursed, then Mulherin spoke. Masque startled at the broken silence. She looked at him sharply and saw concern reflected back at her. She swallowed and glanced away, then shook her head lightly. She knew he cared, yet her emotions were too much of a wildcard. It didn’t help that she kept replaying that moment in her head, seeing him accept Redd without even glancing at Masque first…

No, she said heavily. I’m not myself right now, Mul. I want to be alone. Go home.

He knew it must’ve hurt for Masque to see him congratulate Redd, but he has no clue how deep the cut went. This is the first time he doesn’t know where their head is at. Perhaps they don’t know either.

The boy turns, orange gaze searching for answers Masquerade’s fleeting glance.

And he sees pain, grief.

Somewhere inside him, there’s a tiny, tiny shred of jealousy. Jealousy that they were older. Jealousy that they had more to mourn. All he had were breadcrumbs of his mother. Still, the sentiment is so small that he can’t fully fathom it. Everything is masked by a general numbness he feels.

Masque.. you can’t cope with this alone.

He refuted her and Masque’s temper flared. She started to rise to her feet. Why don’t you respect me? her inner voice bellowed, its clamor so loud that she forgot to follow through on the impulse to growl at him again. Her leg screamed too. She sank.

You can’t help me with this, she told him gruffly. Losing mother was hard enough. And now this.

She knew he probably thought she meant the fight. She did, though only in part. Masque didn’t know how to articulate the rest. If she couldn’t sort it out for herself, how could she possibly explain it to him? Never mind that it was almost certainly fueled by some feminine energy he could never understand.

But now that she’d started talking, she confessed in a wretched whisper, I suddenly want all these things I’ve never wanted before. It doesn’t make any sense. It’s not me. But it is me, Mul. It is me.

He doesn’t move or flinch when they rise. He is rooted to the spot, ears lowering. If they were to bite him, so be it, he thinks. 

Fortunately for him, they refrain, at least for now. All he can do is offer a listening ear.

Then, a confession.

He can’t quite parse what they mean, but tries his best to do so.

What.. things? What is it that you want? He whispers back, hoping for clarification.

What is it that you want?! her inner voice screamed in echo.

I want to rule. I want the right to choose a mate and build a family, Masquerade said, knowing Mulherin would at least understand what a one-eighty that was for her. That’s—it’s a compulsion that came over me, when I could smell that New Snow…

She shook her head, anger surging at the recollection. Masque tried to tamp it down, focusing on explaining herself as best as she could. It was absolutely a struggle, though talking through it might help her make sense of it.

It’s like I suddenly split into two. Masque didn’t know terms like “ego” or “id” but it felt like she was onto something. Me, the Caru who’s always existed, and then… her, with the most feral of feminine wiles. But she’s also me.

Her teeth clenched. As cerebral as she was—part of the problem, certainly—she didn’t have the language to make sense of it. She glanced at Mulherin’s face, expecting to see abject confusion. Nevertheless, she persisted.

I think she must’ve always been there, deep down. Maybe she was sleeping. But now she’s most definitely awake.

This was certainly different from the Masquerade he normally knew.

But this was a tumultuous time. And pressure did all sorts of things.

They wanted a mate, a family. Who’s to say you can’t have that still?

He certainly didn’t see why not.

As for the two sides of Masquerade, he didn’t seem too phased or off-put. Right now, this felt like a conversation he’d have with Carrion, in a riddle-esque sense. Maybe they all had that madness wired through them. 

Now that’s she’s awake, do you want her to stay? He questions gently.

She wished she could answer Mulherin’s questions, though Masquerade could only give an aggravated shake and say, I don’t think I have a choice. She paused, then added, That’s why I’m here, trying to—I don’t know—at least wrestle her into submission, with a decidedly hollow laugh.

Once more, she flashed back to her fight with Redd. If she wanted to support her sister properly, Masque would truly have to wrangle this new aspect of her personality. If she couldn’t, she couldn’t submit to Redd in good faith, which would just cause an ongoing rift…

And this was the point where the cerebral Caru and her inner Avicus met in the middle. It was the part of her that smarted at Mulherin’s—and everyone else’s—instant acceptance of the new Wealda based on a single moment in time, rather than more than a year of unshakable dedication and loyalty.

Mul, she said, suddenly beyond dog tired, it means a lot that you came to check on me. Thank you for being the only one who ever seems to give a damn about me sometimes, even though he’d put Redd above her. Wincing, looking at her bum leg, she finished on a sigh, But I need to figure this out on my own. Go home.

He flicks an ear, listening.

Most of this flew past his head. Truthfully, he was little help, and feels rather useless in the moment. All he could offer was a proverbial pat on the back.

Hopefully, with her newly realized side, this wouldn’t be a Jekyll and Hyde situation.

It’s okay. You need time to adjust, I guess.

She stops him then, using the moment to express her gratitude for him. It lightens his spirits. Anytime. I’ll always support you, y’know. Even if it didn’t seem like that earlier. He murmurs in response, flashing her a half-smile. 

Fine, fine. I’m goin’. Just be safe, ‘kay? If you need anything, just call.

Mulherin departed on a fond, optimistic note, though Masquerade couldn’t even manage a smile for him. Her eyes tracked her brother’s movements through the trees until he disappeared from view completely and she felt somehow more disconsolate for the conversation.

She needed time, yes, and solitude too. She also needed food and sleep. Masque forced herself onto her feet to continue hunting, stifling a whine at her achy, shaky legs. Making a kill would give her furious emotions an outlet. And certainly she would feel less wretched with a little food in her belly.