There had been a time when Tybalt was rougher around the edges. His attachment to Bramble had changed him, made him gentler and more thoughtfully spoke because that was what she had needed him to be. Making her happy had felt like his sole purpose in life, and now in the face of her death he found himself turning to that now obsolete system of decision making but—Foxtail was right— “what Bramble wants” didn’t matter anymore because there was no Bramble. Why should he have to accept this so quickly rather than rummaging through the ‘usual things’ one says when someone dies in search of a bit of truth, a bit of comfort? It was unfair. That thought dawned upon Tybalt, who was squinting through the rain… It was unfair that Foxtail should get to grieve with all the fury and pain that she felt while he scrambled for some foot hold in a world without Bramble, a world in which he no longer knew how to be himself. Thoughts of Fate did not roll through his mind then, as they did Foxtail’s, but if she had asked him he would have said no. More than no, because this day had not played to the tune of the Fate he’d credited when his soul had latched onto Bramble. There was no Fate, only the cruelty of chaotic, meaningless life.
Foxtail… perhaps she too hardly knew how to be herself without her sister. They had always been together, before Tybalt and after him the two dark girls were never far apart from one another. It had never bothered him; they were the best constant companions he could ever have asked for. Foxtail was the hunter, fierce and fast. She made him laugh—and he remembered—he her, on occasion. Bramble was the one he loved, but until this moment he had counted Foxtail as his closest friend. Now Tybalt wasn’t sure. Tension lived in the warm air between their two forms, and he realized that he had neither the words nor the desire to assuage it. Fine, if they were to drift apart, so be it.
He stood, rather unceremoniously detangling himself from the she-wolf and roamed several feet away. Sitting down, he tipped his chin up and allowed himself a low, mournful howl. He wasn’t talking to anyone, it wasn’t meant for anyone to interpret… a release of air and energy to serve only himself…The only clarity he received was a stab of frustration, and he turned his face towards the ground, bristling at his own churning thoughts before speaking to Foxtail once more, but in the booming tones of a man losing grasp on his learned elegances. “I didn’t choose to imprint on her, it was something that happened to me, something that I had no say in.” He waited for a biting retort, or for the sound of her footsteps abandoning him… and added… “I’ve lost more than I can even make myself understand. I can no more understand what you must be feeling. I’m sorry…” His voice softened, “I don’t know your pain… she was always more yours than mine.” Oh but he had loved her...
