’First you make us come here with that stallion - after I told you to run - and then you skulk off in the forest and avoid everyone. What’s the point of that, stupid girl? Why are we here?’ A good question, especially coming from the parasite that is usually more a nuisance than the voice of reason. She grumbles, loathe to admit that anything it says could possibly be right, knowing that it, in fact, is. This time. ”I don’t think anyone asked your opinion,” she snaps, but her words are met by nothing but silence.
The demon knows it has won, and as if to prove its point, Luthien finds herself picking her way back from the deepest depths of the forest, peeling back the layers of her seclusion and replacing it with a mounting anxiety as she draws nearer to the scents that mark the herd nearby. One of them is familiar, a musky male scent that could only belong to Bob, who she’d followed here in the first place. Why had she done that? Well, she knew why she’d done it - to find his daughter, who had been here all along. The real question she should be asking is why had she stayed?
’Because you’re a silly girl who doesn’t know how to listen, of course. Silly and stupid, because what have you got now?’
She bristles, snaps her tail and gnashes her teeth at the sound of that stupid hissing voice, always there, always talking. The worst part is that it’s right again, has been right since it came to her in those long days after her father had beaten her and cast her out. Or had it come to her even before then? She can’t remember anymore, and it’s that uncertainty that terrifies her. Is she crazy, or did everyone have their own little pest, whispering criticism and giving unsolicited opinions at every turn? It’s not like she can just ask someone if hearing voices is normal, because if it wasn’t, they’d know that she’s off her rocker, right?
The isolation had pushed her into regression. She’d been better before, when she’d first met Bob, and the others - Emmett, Calypso, and that chestnut bloke Shamwari. Or at least she’d felt better, but perhaps it had been an illusion and she’d been as crazy then as she feels now, shuddering and shaking against a chilly autumn breeze with that old familiar fear creeping up her spine, latching claws inside her skipping heart. She doesn’t want to be alone anymore with nothing but the trees for company. They make poor companions, too quiet and too loud all at once with their creaking branches and swaying leaves.
She stomps her foot into the dirt, frustration bubbling over and tumbling out in the crash of hoof and solid ground. Her ears twitch and swivel, searching out the sound of the others who call the forest home, hearing nothing but more creaking and swaying as the wind picks up again. ”Hello,” she calls, her voice soft, a bit scratchy from not enough use. ”Anybody out there?”