He hates her now, once he idolized her. Those pink eyes had shown at him with what he could only guess was love, though really he could never be sure with Kahlua, she always seemed so distant. It wasn't that she didn't care for him, or he for her, but now there was a distance between them that could not be bridged. Something divided them and she lay still as pond water on a calm day, and her sides did not rise and fall like they should. The young boy had sat there, staring at the chocolate form of his mother, waiting for her to get up and show him how to hunt as she should have that day. She had been in scraps worse than this, he was sure of it, but it felt different this time. Instead of continuing to bleed, the gilded chocolate lad found himself facing a new type of wound, and one that would never close. How dare she just lie there, how dare she play this heartless game with him! It most certainly was not funny to the boy. He snarled with his kid voice, snapped those small jaws together and gnashed his needle-like fangs. ”Get up, Mother!” He growled out the last part, his irritation with her mounting until he had to move.

He circled her as he had seen the buzzards do in the sky, those pink eyes staring daggers into his mother's lifeless form, willing her to move once again. ”How could you choose today of all days to be so lazy? That dog didn't beat you up that badly, did he? He was a scrawny cur! And you...you let him get the best of you!” Rage filled him and he began to yell at the rotten form of his mother. She had once been so vibrant, her coat had shown and now it lay in ruin. The wound on her neck had begun to fill with tiny white worms that wriggled about and disgusted the boy – who had not even made it to a full year. He ignored the smell she began to put off, had grown used to the scent of decay and rot by now, for it had been a full week now that he had inhaled it. Acanthus still curled up to her corpse at night, making her belly warm once more, though it never lasted if he moved. His refusal to let her go had frightened even the starving coyotes off, such was his savage protectiveness over her. Hatred gleamed in the hot coals that burned deep in his skull, dehydration having set in due to his unwillingness to leave her side. What if she came back while he was away? What if air once again made her sides heave up and down like they used to? What if the eyes he took from her opened to shine upon her loyal son once again with pride? No, he could not miss a single moment, because at any given time she would wake up and reveal her prank. The only things he ate were the insects that crawled beneath the new leaf litter, and the occasional mouse or rat.

It is not the life he had so carefully planned with the corpse, not the path he was supposed to be on. It all felt like a bad dream he was stuck in. Finally, the boy gave into thirst, his body sore and muscles protesting his every heavy step as if his paws had voices. They felt like they had rusted in place, and his skin was stretched tight over his body – rather than being loose and malleable like other pups his age. The whole while he cursed her the best way he knew how, and with each step he gradually accepted that the fates had won her. Who was he to them? What were his ragings and tears to them? It was final then, she wouldn't be coming back, and he was left to fend for himself. To be so young, left to one's own devices and being so unprepared for the world ahead. Something in the boy broke, shattered and fell to the metaphorical ground with all the musical grace of glass against a hard floor.

His voice, cracked and haggard as it might be, suddenly filled his throat as he lifted his head heavenward. Shrill notes filled the crisp autumn air, his breath crystallizing before him in the night, broken tones cried out for help and held such a deep longing for guidance it would be difficult to ignore. He called to his mother, hoping her spirit would hear his plea for help and send someone to him. Acanthus sang this way for what seemed like hours, until he could not utter a single note and he coughed up blood from his ragged vocal cords. After that, he simply lay there, crushed under the weight of a grieving heart, and made blind by tears that felt like claws digging at his hot pink eyes. ”Mother,” he mouthed silently, hearing his voice in the dark labryinth of his mind, ”you left me...” Those pain-filled hot pink eyes lifted to the full harvest moon, and closed for the night.

male ;; minor ;; no love ;; no master ;; homeless