On to better days, or so they say.

For @Edith

---

She returned from the deserted forest to the East, and crossed into Elkshire territory as the sun dipped behind candyfloss clouds. Maral had caught a pine marten along the way and it hung bloodied and limp between her jaws as she strode deeper into the Crown. Not hungry, the shadow made a brief stop to deposit it at her mother's densite to serve as an evening snack for Faust and the boys to argue over. Sweeping her tongue over her upper lip, Maral let her oak stare linger briefly on the dark mouth of the Queen's chamber before veering away to make a swift escape.

Blood from the pine marten had spattered on the alabaster of her chest, and it'd dried in dark. She could not see the stain but the scent of death lingered in her nostrils. Just as she'd begun to regret providing food for her siblings and wishing she'd consumed it herself, movement in the forest ahead brought Maral to an abrupt halt. She blinked up to spot a large buck as he strode along a familiar deer trail, his proud antlers clacking on the low-hanging branches. Her thoughts turned to the High Elk and she allowed herself a moment to appreciate His form and acknowledged the stag with a respectful bow of her muzzle.


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Maral felt a sense of calm creep over her to look upon the regal creature, and her dark eyes rose once more to study his unmarked hide. Safe within the Elk's Crown, no harm had ever come to the buck who'd spent his entire life among its trees. The white-tipped Déorwine, protector of all who shared her home, had not fared as well. She'd suffered greatly in the short year she'd been raised among Elkshire: tormented, outcast, bullied, plagued by sickness. Her frame was slight, still, from her recent illness, though her pelt had quickly regained its health and its rich earthen hues appeared sleek in the evening light.

She bore the mark of a troubled life; she licked her chipped tooth at the sight of the sister who'd made it so.

The stag moved off, likely searching for a place to graze or rest for a time, and Maral felt her muscles stiffen. She flared her nostrils and watched with quiet suspicion as Edith shifted her way, posture hugely out of character. The shadow swept her ears back and furrowed her brow. She briefly surveyed their surroundings for any sign of either of the rogue Princess' side-kicks, but there was not a sniff of Calhoun or Warwick to be detected. 

A hare was dropped at her feet and Maral took a swift step back to blink down at its wide, lifeless eye that stared emptily back at her. Something even more unexpected happened afterward and Edith announced that she had to apologise to her. The shadow curled her lip, uncertain, and she felt as though this had to be some sick joke to lure her into a false sense of security.

She wasn't buying it.


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Maral was surprised to hear the words "I was wrong" come from her sister's mouth. Apologies had never rolled from Edith's tongue and the shadow simply stared at her, unsure how to react. There was a deep-rooted dislike for this particular sibling above all others, something that stemmed from a time before Maral could remember. The beginning of whatever rift that'd been forged between them was lost to her, but she knew enough that it would take a long time to let go of it.

She carried on, and Maral continued to observe the way Edith seemed to squirm. It was difficult for the spitfire, obviously, but there was no sympathy in the quiet one's mahogany gaze. What was it that sparked this sudden realisation that she'd been so awful, anyway?

Maral did not believe her, nor did she trust her. She wasn't so sure that she ever could, but still she listened.

“Is that so?” Maral asked, voice low. She wasn't convinced that her sister's extension of an olive branch was genuine, though she was interested to hear that the High Elk had apparently given her some sort of sign. “How did He warn you?”


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Edith began to explain, and she wondered who this mystery wolf might be she claimed the High Elk had taken from her. At once her mind turned to Seaver - poor, unfortunate young Seaver who'd perished from the same water that'd almost robbed her of her own life. Maral doubted the loss of their little brother would've moved the red-eyed Princess in such a manner, considering her treatment of Faust. The shadow narrowed her eyes on Edith, suspicious, but not interested enough to bring voice to her curiosity. 

In truth, she rather enjoyed the way her sister squirmed. She liked that she wished to admit defeat and grovel for forgiveness. Maral, unprepared to accept Edith's apology, simply looked on at her as she carried on talking. At some point she stopped focusing on what she said, though nothing could dull down the annoying grate of her voice.

“Hm,” the tainted one straightened a little, and wasn't sure what Edith wanted to achieve from this "woe is me" speech that she thought sounded rather rehearsed, “you're right: I don't believe you.” Maral had spent a lifetime feeling like an outcast, struggling to belong purely because she did not fit the High Elk's version of "perfect". They were all older now, yearlings, expected to be mature, but she wasn't ready to move on from the misery her own siblings had caused within her.


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Edith's mood seemed to shift, so very slightly, but Maral took note of it. She twitched her nose, quietly curious as she carried on staring. The shadow couldn't tell if her immediate rejection made Edith hurt, angry or a combination of both, and she reminded herself that Edith's feelings were not her responsibility.

Maral had never asked to be born marked by dreaded white, nor had she asked for her sister to hate her for it.

There was no guilt in her for refusing to believe a word her littermate had said. An acknowledgement was a start, sure, and her dismissal of it was absolutely unfair, but she needed more than "I'm sorry" to get over a lifetime of living in the shadows of her more beloved siblings.

“Enemy? You were never my enemy,” she rolled a dark shoulder, made irritated by Edith's decision to make herself out to be some sort of victim, “but you chose to make me yours.” She huffed a breath, her brow furrowed.


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She tried, truly, to nip her frustration at the bud, and promptly shut her mouth. Her mahogany stare lingered on Edith's face, her stupid and annoying face, and pushed back the dark thought that sprouted in her mind that prompted her to clack her fangs over her muzzle. It would do her no good to fight with her sister, especially when she was trying (albeit poorly) to make amends for her actions.

If she thought a simple "sorry btw" was enough to clear her conscience, then she was a damn fool.

And Maral, stubborn and hurt, was unwilling to forget. Not yet. “Fine,” she said dismissively, though it was clear that she didn't want to hear Edith deflect blame onto their mother for her own choices. They'd all been raised by the same parent and @Warwick had managed to think for himself, so the shadow wasn't buying her red-eyed sibling's excuse, “thanks, I guess. See you.” Because she was done interacting with her, and turned away to assume her own business.

That was definitely enough Edith for today.


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