Of the lost forgotten child,

Faust has been silent.

Motionless standing, a look that stared a mile away and even through the funeral would they hushed. Four born within the forest, some touched by the wickedness of sin, deemed by the High Elk and cursed lightly by the mother that brought them to this land ; and death had taken one of them that almost expected to be of a relief, but the mother that ignored and neglected look of a regretful sadness.

Seaver was dead.

The young all seemingly held of the next thought — would they be next? Parched as the waters were poisoned, and paranoia it was for them ; as not even their older siblings like them much less of a mother who torn away even when death fell. Darkness overtook the forest and the small hearts of the youngest Deorwine, for tragedy came and the truth bathed them highly.

And she cried.

An ugly sobbing of a sibling torn away that was to share this burden in the world, but now all that was felt, was she had — oh Faust could name a few but she dare not to utter their names. Instead of large waterworks falling forth within the night, and silently holding herself.

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@Daighre

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Someone was crying.

Soft, wet, muffled noise that grew with every step. The sound—noise—interrupted by the choked, broken sob that broke loose and hiccuping, gasping sound.

Someone was crying.

He growled, low, in his throat. His ears pinned back. His lip curled, peeled, away from his teeth. His hackles stood on edge. His body—his muscles—tensed.

Someone was crying.

And he was there.

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Tear-locked and distracted from the world around them, not even the owls that coo'd in the night would let them stop in their waterworks. Face nuzzled closely to the white-stained chest and the continual crying of a mere' child, an asking of whys and woes and an overall of just.. Feeling what was, for the young child despite in such tears, never did sob too much out. None of the Deorwine young did.

Perhaps they knew their place.

Though all seemed to cease when they gasped in the midst of it and torn a frosted gaze on a lurking figure who growled, moonlight drenching what seemed to be a man toasted in the hue's of a cream, but not of the one's she was familiar with. Light — but eyes that shone a blood she saw when her brother coughed up, the color she saw torn from Maral and Edith's fight and.. and..

She was frozen, sobbing ceased but not the tears that kept falling.

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A blunt, rounded puppy-fat muzzle and too-big ears. A dark face wet with tears; tear marks that trailed, fresh, down short facial fur.

He growled.

Louder, this time, and bolder.

His ears rolled back and with his black lips peeled and curled. His tail raised over his back. His stance low and wide.

He stalked.

Stepped.

Pressed.

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She got up, and stepped back. A beast prowled forth, and she had vivid flashbacks of her sister doing the same, "w-what," Faust has not stuttered since she was a child. She didn't like the disapproval stare, she didn't like feeling something was inferior then to her other siblings — but she could not help but hiccup at unfamiliar danger.

"what did I do?" and yet, even in the end of a terror facing a stranger, the child, couldn't help but feel that she did something specifically, to cause this act of another. A whimper, let through, and the mixture of embarrassment, but fear, as prominent.

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"Stop crying."

It was fucking annoying.

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Eternal scowl on their face, words that didn't say anything but then suddenly, demanded. She frowned ; realization hitting that the young disliked greatly being told what to do. Her entire life was being ignored, and the switch that flipped to some gnawed at her soul, and now strangers acted as if they knew more-so. She scowled back through tear-stained looks, continual dripping as Faust yelled.

"What do you want!"

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He lunged.

Dove.

Open-mouthed.

A snarl tearing through the night.

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History repeated, innocent and yet not, judged by the High Elk, judged by her siblings, and worse of all the mother who was supposed to love them — instead cradled to brothers and sisters who though tried, couldn't substitute that neglect. How Faust screamed to the night, what was both a shrill of utter fustration and a howl to the mixture — for in the end although was alone, the forest was not emptied.

She was small, by no mean even able to match an adult in anyway, nor' held any experience. Only experience of being attacked, and the thirst for vengeance and sickened by the cursed world that deemed she was a threat, and sent enemies one after the other.. Faust charged, an injury that was not looked at firstly, but with his mouth wide open and so the cuts were, she aimed exactly to rip at those cuts.

Maybe for once Celnes would hear her.

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The puppy charged and lunged and attacked, the corner of his lower lip grabbed and snagged between young sharp teeth—

And he flailed.

Drawn to his back legs.

His forearm brought up. Her body caught between.

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The skin—the flesh, the membrane—of his lower lip tore.

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Something felt powerful on grabbing whatever it was, to pull and tug and cause harm — but she was so small, so light, that his flailing had easily lifted her up. Paws within the air and ground disappear, for a moment breath seemed to flee, as Faust was flung by a ferocious force, a great whimper as impacted by the tree she slammed into her. Coughing, greatly ; frustrated, that once more of a useless that came and a glaring at the red-eyed devil who though lip may bleed, stood there unharmed, as she struggled to catch her breath..

In the distance rustling was heard, and she whipped her frosted tear-stained gaze over.

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Night held high, the forest was silent within The Elk's Crown but she felt restless. Dreams plagued by many, her son haunting, the past of those she denied life to whispering so ; awoken with a cold sweat.. Celnes took a break, strolling through the forest when the sounds of growling and whimpering was heard in the distance. She ran through, the wysteria petals bounding after her feet for the scent of her pup was to be heard, and the knowledge that Faust strolled off somewhere and as she marched forward —

he was there.

Red-eyed and tan, a figure she met long ago, who was drifting and living within the Woodlands for but a few days.. Returned and there he was, with her child who was thrown to the bark, and slide to the ground. Blood was smelled in the air, and her young white-tipped bastardly kin was there in tears and eyes of anger. Celnes looked over to Daighre, hostile, growling as a lip curled back, and she howled. Summoning the pack for the man who entered the forest and harmed her daughter.

A new enemy was upon Elkshire's list.

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thread is now open! Daighre is to be chased out but not killed and given permission to tackle him as he flees. From here-forth is also labelled an Elkshire enemy, and on their hit-list.

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It was her, again.

The brown bitch, from before.

She howled—

And he ran.

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Into the woods.

Into the dark.

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