'Gwyneira? It’s safe to come out…You were right about being rescued, but wrong about who.'

Her eyelids had flickered open at the noise, and though she was groggy, she was awake. It seemed that any noise woke her now, largely because the rest of the time, it was too quite. Here, in the deep abyss of Draven's den, there was often nothing but silence. Even when the night-painted monster did arrive, there was no sound to belay his presence. At night, in the darkness, Gwyneira was blind despite her lupine heritage - even they needed some bit of light to see by. But Draven was a different beast all together, and needed naught but his own damned hellportals in order to see, whenever and whatever he wanted. And so, ususally, Gwyneira found herself being alerted to his presence by Briseis instead - the she-wolf was all too often the focus of Draven's torturing, or, in his eyes, his sadistic pleasuring.

Ah, yes, pleasuring. It was something that Gwyneira had learned off too young in life. Yes, her mother had been quick to tell her where babies came from - nothing specific of course given her age, and how they were made, but it was something completely different to know in theory how something is done, and to have learned it. While Draven had never been sick enough to force the sexual actions onto Gwyneira herself, he had forced her to watch him take Briseis over and over again. Gwyneira had thusly seen every aspect of the intimate act, from the vicious attacks of the male toward the female, scouring her coat with innumerable cuts and lacerations, painting her pallid form with streams of crimson, to the aggressive gyration of his...'red stick thingy' into her place where she peed out of. Gwyn had seen the tears and heard the cries, and understood that sex was a terrible and painful thing... and had a new appreciation for her mother - she had undergone this all so she could have Sergei and Gwyn herself? It was a small wonder... and at the same time, the small lass decided that she would never have pups herself, even despite her mother stressing that pups were important - they were the future, the legacy that a wolf would leave upon the world. However brief the thought, however innocent it was, Gwyneira could never realize that it was all too accurate - she would never deliver pups of her own into the world. But at any rate, the most interesting thing about the whole situation, the relationship between the three vargs (if Draven could still be counted as one) was that Gwyneira never felt fear. Any time Draven turned his eerie gaze upon her, her lower lip had jutted out, sure that if he was to harm a single hair upon her body, that her mother would suddenly materialize to save her. It was, in all actuality, Briseis who saved her - time and time again, offering her own flesh to protect that of the young innocent pup. Briseis was dirtied and broken, and had been violated in every possible way - it was worth it to sully herself yet again if it would save the little one from it all. Little did she know, that Draven had no intention of hurting the pup at all...

'Gwyneira. Your father has come for you. It’s time to come home.'

It was the dark set of vocals, rumbling through the cave, nearly shaking her that actually brought her alert. Gwyneira had had little to no interactions with her father. He had occasionally come by her mother's den to offer forth food - it was never the same thing, always something different... but it was always fresh. And that was about the extent of her interaction with him. She knew nothing of him other than his name and his ability to provide for them. But the way he spoke now told volumes. He had not referred to himself as 'I' but rather as her father. She would of course recognize him... so why was that phrasing necessary? And then there was the timbre, the lilt of his words - they were not full of fear like they would be for most parents who had lost their pups. Nor were they full of anger for the one who had taken her away. There was no relief at having found Gwyneira. There was, in fact, nothing. Nothing but the cold, matter-of-fact command coming from Kershov... and in that moment, Gwyneira understood that Kershov saw himself as her alpha first, her father second. Still, Gwyneira was relived even if he was not, to be rescued, to be allowed to return home to Mother and Sergei.

Her paws pulled at the stone ground and she stood and immediately took off at a run toward the mouth, a soft whimper staining her lips as light stung her eyes which had been used to only the darkness for days now. But as she blinked, she saw in front of her Kershov, King, and Briseis. Not being able to help herself, Gwyneira ran to hide between Kershov's paws, nuzzling against one of his four trunks for comfort. Her tiny head seemed even smaller as it poked out from between his two fronts and peered up at him. "Can Brie come too? She took care of me..."