Silence is all that exists in the space between then, and yet Cartel's ears are filled with even the most minute of sounds made by the world around them. Beyond the ebb and flow of the river he can hear the way the breeze shifts momentarily, ruffling the leaves of the trees in a different direction before it settles once more. He can hear the unfurling of wings moments before a songbird takes flight. But despite all that he hears, his focus is given entirely to his mother, waiting for her answer, wondering if such a fate had been sealed for him the moment his unseeing eyes had first opened. Her response, however, is not a direct answer. It is a question, and he feels the testing in them. Would he let them take his eyes? Once more his nose wrinkles with displeasure, his lips stayed from revealing fangs only by the words that followed. He listened carefully to her reasoning, her explanation of why it would be pointless for a wolf to take his eyes, and then again why it had been purposeful to remove Abel's leg. This, in fact, was the first confirmation of the event which he had only been able to suspect on the outcome of - the terrible sounds of bone breaking and whatever one could describe the noises Abel had made. His sightless eyes flickered for a moment, unable to hide the concern for his brother. He did not want him to die.
In these moments his visage fell blank, the wrinkle disappearing from his nose and the tension slipping away from his face. Her words roll around in his mind - What would he do about it? Would he let them? It does not mean they will not try. As this statement echoed in his mind the discontentment tautens his face once more. At long last, his ivory daggers are unsheathed as his lips curl back, and a practically spits the words at his mother, "They are mine, my weakness to bear, they cannot have them." His nostrils flared wide, almost as if he were testing the air to seek out those who would try to take his eyes from him. "They cannot have them!" he repeats forcefully.
Would there ever be a time where he did not have to fear for himself, for his safety within the pack? Would he always have to be on guard, prepared to fend off those who would try to remove the weakness from him? What kind of life would it be, to remained tucked away at the northern fringe of the pack, contributing nothing and becoming nothing? It was not the type of life that he had been taught was suitable. The cowardice of his actions was beginning to dawn upon him, but he fought to keep the realization at bay as his lips began to settle once more to cover his exposed fangs. "I will show them that I am more than my lack of sight." The hardness of his defense was beginning to slip away from his voice, an echo of the unsure sentiment that had been there when he had asked his mother whether they would come for his eyes. He could not bring himself to ask Ava outright what to do with himself, but the lack of value in his existence was something his sisters had drilled into him from his youngest days. It was a difficult thing to overcome. "Though I am not sure what my worth is." Try as he might to infuse his words with strength, the weakness bled through like an open wound on white fur.
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