[private] too much pressure just to make it

[Malik]

Malik once had each of the bones in his left front leg broken, one after the other. His father had wanted to know which hurt the worst, and the wide-eyed boy had done his best to tell him. How had he been able to forget such a thing. Wincing at the memory, he reopens his eyes to find Sickle with her head down, crying.

He shudders, and then shakes himself on purpose, as if the motion might rid him of the dark emotions riding his shoulders as well. One step forward, and he pauses, and then another, turning on the deep leaf mat so he - now wearing the shape of a black wolf - can lie beside her. Malik doesn’t lean in, only offers his side if she wants it. It’s easy to see her like he sees Myrna (small and in need of protection), especially in this shape, and the responsibility that comes with that does push away some of his dark thoughts - at least for the moment.

He waits, looking up at the stars that slowly appear as the night draws nearer, and tries not to think of anything at all.

His stomach begins to rumble the moment she finally speaks, and he smiles, more amused by the coincidence than he should be. He is eager to grasp for brightness in the dark, Malik finds.

“Now, we find something to eat. After that, maybe we can decide what to do. Together.”

@Sickle

[Sickle]

Part of Sickle expected Malik to walk away when she closed her eyes. She does not have the watchful instincts of her mother, her entire focus is on her hurt and the only way she knows how to deal with it is to do exactly what she is doing - crying and curling into herself.

There was a time when she’d be comforted as she did this and that little thought only causes the sobs to increase.

And because she is not expecting it, she startles when Malik joins her. His presence comforts and hurts all at the same time. But she leans into him when he joins her, afraid that if she doesn’t take all the chances she can get to remind him that he’s real, she’ll regret it. She’d feel guilty if she was lying here crying when he was wrestling with his own tragedies - but shapeshifting was the talent that ran in their family, not mind-reading.

A small laugh escapes her at the response to her question, when she opens one bright eye to look at him and sees the smile. It wasn't a particularly funny answer, of course - her laugh is more out of relief than anything else. “That sounds like a good plan.”

SICKLE

@ Malik