female.adult.homeless.loveless.childless.snowy
she swears that she will die.
she has never been a particularly pessimistic woman, and she has always been known to be a fighter---even on the brink of a loss, even under the burden of grief (if Sil even harbors the ability to feel such a thing), or in the throes of anger especially. but there is something about travel that makes her weary; she has lost count of how many times she has seen the death of the sun and watched as it brightened the horizon once more. she has lost count of the times she and Rade have curled together, shivering beneath the stars which serve as the saddest excuse for warmth there could be. sometimes she thinks she can still feel ice crusted on her fur and in her nose, and the burning of sickness in her lungs. Sil knows that, as strong and proud and brave her brother might be---or try to be, because sometimes he is a failure of a soldier---he worries for her. likely because he has no one else to worry for and never will; how can a killer care for another?
they break from the forest that seems to have been endless, ghosting along invisible paths that have yet to be torn. for once, Rade is leading the pair, using his broad shoulders and considerable bulk to wrestle them free of the tangled bush. the scent of blood---iron, copper, metallic---makes Sil's belly lurch oddly, though she can't say it's an unpleasant feeling. on the contrary, it's familiar; something primal that hints towards the beginnings of a deep hunger. Rade growls under his breath and Sil presses up against him, her rangy limbs making her look more like a doll than anything next to her brother's insurmountable strength, but somehow she forces him to yield to her movement, albeit reluctantly. the onyx male chuckles under his breath, though, as if something about her obvious dominance maneuver is funny. 'your heart is better suited to the dark, sister,' he says, in that cryptic way of his, and her muzzle wrinkles.
'yes, but as hard as you try, brother, your bullshit is still not as poetic as you wish it to be.' they look at each other, smiling bitterly before she pushes herself into him roughly---however, this time she is being affectionate and she knows he feels it because he bends his massive head to press his nose against the rusty girl's golden ear. she is colored like the sun, if the sun were not blinding---a burnished copper fluctuating in shade from dark, deep russets to near creme colors to brisk gold to almost black over her ruff. they stand for a moment, reveling in a sense of calm for the first time since they have come here; Sil thinks it's sad that she cannot seem to recall the last time she was not in turmoil over something or another.
the sound of rushing water reminds Sil of the dryness in her throat and she swallows, wincing involuntarily at the way the air seems to be edged in something serrated and sharp that stabs in her chest. 'move, rade,' she orders him, slinking forward with her shoulders crouched so she can fit herself beneath the thin treeline. Rade follows with some difficulty as he can't always fit himself into smaller spaces, dragging his tongue along his lips. his slate colored eyes catch hers and they stare at one another for a long moment.
it is magnificent, this place; not that either of them are able to recognize such material things as beauty. stacked slabs of rock are eroded by the turbulent flow of water that falls across them, emptying into what seems like a shallow pool at the bottom. Rade comes up next to her and laps at it with the thirst of a dying man which is, essentially, what he is. and then, in a cavalier fashion typical of her brother, Rade turns, his tail swinging behind him as if he has no care in the world and he disappears once more into the folds of the gnarled gray trees. she no longer cares when he does this; in fact, she has come to expect it of him. he is her sibling, yes, but he responds to himself and himself only---he does what he wants to when he wants to do it and Sil has no say in it.
slowly, almost hesitantly, she wades into the water until it's wrapping itself about her, brushing against the thick fur along her midsection. she immerses her muzzle into it and it's cold; too cold, but she doesn't seem to feel its sting as she closes her eyes and revels in it. though a shiver involuntarily wracks her spine, she does not move---she stands like some statue, and that is all she might as well be.
sil;♥
how could you be so naive?
not even death could save you from me
i tried and tried to show you the light
you could have saved a life. 