the opposite of love's indifference; any

[pyxis]

she'll lie and steal and cheat and beg you from her knees make you think she means it this time There are things Pyxis does not understand. She does not understand why her father ran away in the middle of the night; she does not know why her mother still pines for him; she does not understand why others so easily give away their hearts. She cannot comprehend the ways in which others seem so eager to be hurt. Pyxis would never make that mistake—she had promised that to herself a long time ago. She would never spit up her heart to lay at someone else’s feet and hope they would not trample upon it. No, she would keep it for herself. That is not to say Pyxis did not enjoy the company of others.  She had learned that she liked the way that someone else’s breath feels rolling down her neck; she enjoyed the feel of warm flesh pressed up against her own. She could lose herself for hours in conversation and appreciated a warm sense of humor. But that is where it ends. She does not open herself up to them like a flower to the sun. Rather, she remained hidden in the shadows, taking small pieces as they were given to her and never giving them back. So, it is with the expectation of this selfish companionship that she enters into the meadow this morning, her head lifted high and her eyes bright with anticipation. She herself was beautiful in the way her entire family seemed to be; she was a mixture of mahogany and onyx and ivory, the colors blending together and then peeling away—but it was the eyes that often captured the attention. Ice blue, they peeked from behind the tangled mess of her inky forelock and stood out starkly against the white mask claiming most of her face. They were sharp, piercing, almost ethereal in the right light. (Still, she found herself wishful for the jade green of her mother’s eyes.) Smiling to herself, Pyxis wandered the edge of the meadow, watching others carefully before coming to rest underneath the boughs of a large tree. Sighing, she let herself become content in the silence, as she was wont to do. For every moment that she was around others, leaching their company, she needed these moments to recharge. She may have come here to find a temporary friend (she did not keep the same company for long—it flirted too closely with her personally set boundaries), but if she was to spend the day by herself, she would be fine.  Happy, even. she'll tear a hole in you, the one you can't repair but I still love her, I don't really care

[Daemron]

the lone wolf dies, but the pack survives

The red she-wolf is his constant companion. The rest of his pack has drifted (brother, sister; father, mother). Cerva, slipping from the Valley like silk. Nihlus, chasing after the notion of power. Father, distracted by the demands of a crown. And mother, her glowing eyes full of secrets — secrets he has come to mistrust.
 
Only his wolf remains.
 
He dreams of her hunts almost every night now — and when his dreams are black and empty without the hunt, he is on edge. On those mornings, even after she returns to him, Daemron emanates irritation. A part of him resents her satiation because he had not shared in it — a part of him craves the adrenaline, the ferocity (the kill).
 
Today is one of those days.
 
He stalks through the meadow in search of her, knowing her location by the pull in his chest. In turn, the wolf knows he's coming. She waits for him, crouched over the spoils she'd dragged into the bushes on the outskirts of the meadow at dawn. Now the bones of her kill look grey, cast in shadow by daylight.
 
Her tongue lolls as she stretches, long-limbed and languid — though when a wayward mare passes near her hiding place, the maned wolf eyes her with wary intelligence. Unaware of the hooded gaze that follows her, the tobiano halts beneath a tree only twenty yards away. The wolf stares at her a while longer — then she huffs dismissively and gnaws idly at grey bones as she waits for Daemron to find her.
 
He comes upon her with a low rumble in his throat, ears flicking backward as she slinks from the underbrush to close the distance between them. She then peers up at him with an unapologetic look, jaw loose, belly full. "Enjoying ourselves, are we?" He mutters — and when she nips at his heels in response, he snaps his teeth in warning near a long red ear. He was in no mood for her self-satisfaction after his own huntless night.
 
But he is still curious about the kill. Lowering his chestnut head with its wide, irregular blaze, Daemron peers into the thicket to catch a glimpse of the grey bones. Hare. He might have laughed if it weren't for the disturbing lurch of hunger that twists his stomach so suddenly — for he'd pictured the kill and his brother simultaneously just then. "Come on," he says to her, irritation etched across his expression as he shakes out his willow-mane.
 
They turn as one then — toward the mare by her tree. He hadn't noticed her until now, but she would have been close enough to witness their interaction. He continues moving as if to pass her by (his mood as black as his dreams), but the red wolf slows, sniffing at her scent with bold familiarity. Daemron's grey eyes find the mare's ice-blue gaze momentarily. Emboldened, his wolf draws even closer. He too finds himself slowing, his eyes (glowing faintly, stark and intense) on the stranger.
 
He wonders if she'd be afraid.
 
"Don't mind her," he says in an unconcerned tone, stopping just as the wolf darts forward to nip at a splashed foreleg before reeling away. An instinctive growl rises in his throat like a command, but he swallows it back. Something in him doesn't care whether his wolf drives her off — yet something else in him does. "She won't hurt you." And as the ruddy dog slinks about the mare's haunches (tongue lolling in a mouthful of long teeth) a corner of his lip tilts. Black mood, black humour. "Not while she's full, anyhow."

DAEMRON

trekk and noori’s wolfling son

[pyxis]

she'll lie and steal and cheat and beg you from her knees make you think she means it this time The duo of them makes for quite the entertainment. With hind leg cocked, she swivels an ear toward them, watching with amusement as they bickered and snipped at one another—of course, having no idea what the argument was about. It was nice, in a way that she did not fully understand, to see a pair fight so openly. Different from the way that her parents seemed to slip into the darkness where the poison of their love could infect only them. It was refreshing to see such honesty, black and dark as it was, between a pair; to see them size each other up for what they were. So she only smiles to herself as they make their way past her, pleased that her trip to the meadow had not been completely in vain. Lost in thought, Pyxis did not notice that the wolf had stopped to sniff at her, and she yips a little in surprise, jumping to the side before freezing—caught in the stallion’s faintly glowing gaze. “I don’t mind,” she murmurs under her breath, furious at herself. She did not like to be caught off guard like that and certainly didn’t like to be compromised around strangers. Being vulnerable was amongst her greatest fears. Attempting to recover, she gives a breezy smile and shakes her forelock from her ice-blue eyes. “My name is Pyxis.” She angles her head at the wolf, noting the teeth and the lolling tongue. Winking, she says simply. “I hope you are not terribly hungry, because I taste awful.” She imagined that she tasted something like rotting meat—full of promise and decaying aspirations. Not that she was going to share so much with the stallion and his companion. “So what are your names?”  What she doesn't say: Please don't leave me alone. Not yet. she'll tear a hole in you, the one you can't repair but I still love her, I don't really care

[Daemron]

the lone wolf dies, but the pack survives

The startled sound that slips from her brings him a measure of satisfaction, though it isn't that he's a sadist. He simply likes that she doesn't assume the wolf to be harmless at first. His brother was always maddeningly careless when it came to the wolf, and because of their magic his parents saw her as just another thing that could be controlled. And while Daemron posseses the power to control her in that way — to strip her of willpower and force her to obey his whims — he has never exerted it. The control he does have with her is simply an understanding that exists between the alpha and beta of a pack. And though she's been by his side since birth, she was still wild — still dangerous.

It was good to see someone respect that, for once.

When Pyxis addresses her, the slinking wolf gives a shake of her head and breathes a sound like wind that hisses past tongue and teeth in quick succession. She was laughing. "Funny," Daemron remarks dryly, casting a raised brow toward the wolf before turning to meet the mare's ice-blue gaze. She was rather charming, though perhaps her charm is wasted on the chestnut — he's always had a serious streak. His eyes search hers, considering her. "I'm Daemron," he responds as the wolf settles beside the trunk, watching them intently. "And this is  —" A long, ruddy ear twitches in his direction. The only name she'd had until now was Wolfie, compliments of Nihlus. Daemron hated it. "Red," he decides then. The wolf hears him and blinks once in recognition  — then she tucks her maned head and sets about cleaning a large and bloodied paw as if neither of them existed.

He supposes it's his turn to make conversation. "She likes you." Abrupt, but true — the wolf rarely chose to keep open company like this with anyone besides himself. "Pyxis, right?" A willowed tail flicks against chestnut hocks. "So, Pyxis, you don't mind wolves and you taste awful." Though the tension from his restless night still lingers (faint lines etched against the hard muscles of his body) he rolls his shoulders and focuses on her instead. Perhaps he needs to be distracted. He lets his smoky eyes trace her features carefully, though his tone remains casual. "What else should I know about you?"

DAEMRON

trekk and noori’s wolfling son

[pyxis]

she'll lie and steal and cheat and beg you from her knees
make you think she means it this time

She could not say that she minded the company; not when it was interesting like this. She was, by nature, a social creature who enjoyed social interactions. She just liked to keep it on the surface level. There was something both exhilarating and relieving all at once in keeping each soul an acquaintance. They never got close enough to do actual harm, and she never got close enough to actually care about them.

They could stay or leave—and she would sleep fine every night.

So she slips easily into the conversation with the smoke-eyed stallion before her, her lips spreading into a casual, breezy smile. “I like her too,” she turns her gaze to where the wolf cleansed herself without seemingly a care in the world. What it must be like to be a creature as wild and fierce as that—someone destined to run wild bound to what must seem like natural prey. What an odd combination.

“Have you and Red always been together?” She couldn’t imagine that kind of commitment, except perhaps her siblings. Ilka, her soft, dreamy-eyed sister, was so close to her that they may as well have been twins, although her sister was more open and more trusting. Pyxis was more like Malis in nature, although she was not as wild as her elder sibling. She found herself somewhere in the middle; not as kind as Ilka and not as fierce as Malis. “You must be alright if she hasn’t eaten you yet.”

He inquires more about her, and she feels her stomach tighten in defense. “There’s not much to know about me,” she deflects with a casual, practiced shrug, her ice-blue eyes brightening as she turns the conversation back toward him. “You’re the one with ferns in your mane and a wolf at your side. I am sure your story is far more fascinating.” 

She looks at him expectedly. “Tell me more about you.”

she'll tear a hole in you, the one you can't repair
but I still love her, I don't really care

© patryk sobczak

[Daemron]

the lone wolf dies, but the pack survives

With a nod he concedes that he and Red have always been together, though his lips twitch at her second comment. "What would it say about me if she's tried?" Without lifting her head, the maned wolf snorts derisively from beneath the tree as if to say, like you'd still be alive. Daemron's eyes flicker with amusement. Rather than commenting, he turns and gestures to several faint scars along his side. "Most of it was play, but we've had our moments." It was impossible to remain unscathed in a pack. And no matter how unconventional, that is what they are.

Perhaps she is more family than his own flesh and blood.

The thought irks him. It's ironic that Daemron values loyalty as much as he does, when in fact he and his siblings are the product of disloyalty — and while he's suspected his mother of keeping secrets from a young age, he does believe they are a family. It's why their disconnect bothers him so deeply. But Eight is not his father, nor is he Nihlus's. Perhaps, then, it is fate that they are unravelling — like the loose ends of a fraying rope pulled in different directions. Such ties could never be expected to hold together for long. But Daemron doesn't know the truth about the kind of family they really are (disconnected from the very start) — and if ever he were to discover the extent of Noori's lies, there would be hell to pay.

Pyxis' deflection is smooth. She does it with an ease borne of habit; even the spark in her eye is meant to flatter him. A muscle twitches along Daemron's jaw, but after a moment he decides to humor her. Perhaps some of her charm isn't wasted on him after all. "The story's simple. Like everyone else, I've got parents to blame for most of it." He smirks and glances over at his ruddy-coated companion, though it's a shame he isn't watching Pyxis just then — he wouldn't see how closely he skirts the mark.

"Red followed mother while she was pregnant with us — my twin brother and sister, that is — and after we were born, I found her watching in the woods." He turns smoky grey eyes back upon Pyxis. "When I looked at her, I knew." There is a weight to his voice, though in contrast he gives a nonchalant whisk of his willowed tail. "My parents both have their magic. Cerva has her ivy. Nihlus has the rain. I have Red." With his eyes on her, he traces her features again as the wolf gnaws between her next paw. "That's pretty much it." He stops then, waiting to see if she would offer anything of herself or if she would go on hiding behind a striking expression and ice-blue eyes. 

DAEMRON

trekk and noori’s wolfling son

[pyxis]

she'll lie and steal and cheat and beg you from her knees
make you think she means it this time

‘I’ve got parents to blame for most of it.’ 

How that rings true. Not that she particularly blamed Oksana for anything. Mostly, she just couldn’t understand her mother—couldn’t wrap her mind around her ability to suffer again and again for poison that she dared to call love. Her father was another story though. Her father was a toxin in their family; the root of everything wrong. He was wild—a storm that blew through cities and left them decimated and then carried on as if nothing happened. She didn’t believe that he truly knew the damage that he did to their family, or even cared. He just destroyed and then ran away into the night.

So, yes, perhaps she did have parents to blame for it.
Whatever ‘it’ was.

Not that she reveals these thoughts, her expression remaining placid as she continues to watch him. She nods as he tells her story, and her mouth opens in practiced surprise—the entire conversation as smooth as she could hope. “Triplets? My word.” She knows better than most that the best way to keep people off her trail was to feed them tidbits, mostly true, so they were sated. If she continued to deflect him, it would only drive him to ask more questions. “I have two sisters and a brother,” a truth. “My parents are one of those annoyingly in love couples,” a half-truth.

“I’m sure I’ll have another sibling before I know it,” a lie.

Her smile is sweet though, and she shakes her forelock from her eyes before she directs the conversation back toward him, ears perking in interest. 

“So where are you guys headed to next?”

she'll tear a hole in you, the one you can't repair
but I still love her, I don't really care

© patryk sobczak

[Daemron]

the lone wolf dies, but the pack survives

Sunlight streaks through the branches above them, playing across her dark skin. He likes the way she looks (smooth curves and rich colours) but there is something else about her — something that interests him more than the practiced softness and that sweet smile. Daemron couldn't name what it was, exactly; but she seemed so well put together that he finds himself wondering what it would be like to watch her come apart. There is nothing raw about Pyxis, and that is exactly why he wonders. She is pretty — she wears it like silk and wraps it closely about her, and yet without it she could be so beautiful.

"I don't know if my parents were ever in love," he says, his voice dismissive. "Sometimes it felt like more of a show than anything else." He'd hated that feeling — another fraying rope unwinding. Having finished grooming, the she-wolf huffs and curls in the long grass. Her eyes close, though one long red ear remains pricked in their direction. "Your family's close, then?" Daemron asks. He believes it a simple question, and he envies the simple answer that he expects her to give. Yes.

He knows that love binds — he has yet to know that love breaks.

He shrugs at the next turn in conversation, though a muscle in his jaw jumps again. After a heavy pause he says, "Anywhere." Then he laughs shortly (much like a quick bark), leaning in close so that the wolf cannot hear him. "But if the mutt falls asleep, nowhere fast." He straightens with a smirk to the sound of a low rumble coming from beneath the tree, though he pretends not to hear it.

In reality, he isn't sure where they'll go. He used to call the Valley his home, but with his family scattered he now held little allegiance to the kingdom itself. Perhaps he and Red would disappear into darkened woods together and forget the rest — but even though Daemron entertains the thought, nothing would come of it. He is not made for solitude, just as Pyxis is not made for it. The faint glow of his gaze rests on her, thinking about how she'd phrased her question. She hadn't asked where he'd come from as one usually does. He shifts, tilting his chestnut head in her direction with a measure of curiosity in his grey eyes. "What about you, Pyxis? Going anywhere?"

DAEMRON

trekk and noori’s wolfling son

[pyxis]

she'll lie and steal and cheat and beg you from her knees
make you think she means it this time

All Pyxis feels is raw. Underneath the practiced demeanor and forced aloofness, she feels everything like fire on bare skin. She felt the sting of her father’s abandonment and the second-hand ache that her mother must feel from the betrayal. She felt the pain so deeply that she could not comprehend it. Why would anyone open themselves up to that possibility? How could you keep make someone else the center of your world? When they left (and they always do), you would be left with nothing.

So she hides the softness, the truth, beneath the slick outer shell and coy smiles. Her exterior is not entirely unpleasant, but it is practiced and as hard as iron. Even when she feigned affection, it was only surface deep. There were only a handful that she let close and they were all her family. No one else was given the privilege. 

His words sting, the idea of love being a show, but she doesn’t let on to it, instead frowning slightly. “I am sorry to hear that,” she muses. “It must be difficult to watch.” Not as difficult as watching your father systematically break down your mother, she thinks. Not as difficult as knowing that your parents were indeed very much in love and then watching that same love detonate and destroy everything in its radius.

“We are!” she says and she slips slightly, her guard coming down for a second. “My sister is the most important person in the world to me.” Her mind wanders to Ilka and her dreamy eyes, something protective flaring in her chest, before she realizes her mistake and straightens up and catches his gaze.

He asks where she is going and she considers the question—on both levels. What she would tell him and what she herself would know as true. “I’m not sure,” she answers with a trace of honesty. “I’m rather enjoying the idea of wandering.” Not entirely true. Even now, she felt the need to go back to the Gates and to Ilka—to make sure that she was safe. The Gates was not her home, but it was Ilka’s and that meant Pyxis would follow. “Maybe I’ll follow you and Red for a while.” Her smile is wistful.

she'll tear a hole in you, the one you can't repair
but I still love her, I don't really care

© patryk sobczak

[Daemron]

the lone wolf dies, but the pack survives

I am sorry to hear that, she says. It must be difficult to watch. His lips tilt ruefully. “Which is why I don't — not anymore.” And then Daemron sees it. A glimpse of flame. A bright spark flickering beneath a heavy veil of practiced perfection. A fire that burns as she speaks of her sister.

She must have felt his eyes on her (focused and intense) for when she catches him watching, she seems to draw the cloak tight again. He tilts his head at her and wonders just how brightly she could burn. Although he knows the moment has passed, he asks, “What's her name?” Perhaps if she told him more about Ilka he would catch another glimpse of her, through the sister she loved.

Pyxis goes on to say that she might follow them, and though she smiles he considers her comment with a serious expression. Coming to a decision, the chestnut steps forward, brushing his muzzle to her shoulder in a faint nudge. The wolf, too, rises suddenly from beneath the tree. Keen eyes flashing at the pair, she flexes her freshly-cleaned claws through the dirt and slinks casually to the stallion's side.

“Come on,” Daemron says to Pyxis, turning southeast. Without pause, Red picks out an unseen trail and starts off ahead. “I want to show you something.” His lips form a brief smile, ears flicking as he hears Red slipping through the underbrush. “You'll like it,” he adds, eyes lingering on the blue of her gaze before he turns to follow the ruddy wolf into the trees, glancing over his shoulder to see if Pyxis really would follow them after all.

DAEMRON

trekk and noori’s wolfling son

so I did a thing. the thing is in forlorn forest. [runs away]