- Jul 8, 2022
- 197
- 33
- 28
MY NAME IS BRUTUS AND MY NAME MEANS HEAVY ✧
her face has become a rarity in camp, no longer being able to handle all that consumes her. a foolish man who leads a foolish clan, brings in those he cannot feed, lets outsiders try and claim the scent of the river. it disgusts her. she can't even stand his face, gaunt and sunken in, or his lingering near the medicine den. she can't be near the nursery, the smell of fresh milk making her sorrowful and swallowing down guilt with every word. she is among the outskirts, the reeds that shiver in the cold and the frozen waters. it's where she seems to belong nowadays. she does her duties and heads to hunt, and it's all that consumes her. especially now.the molly's eyes are critical and quick, a constant scan for movement, but her mind is far from the world. had not spoken a word during the clans' monthly gatherings, too overwhelmed with sorrow for a family who goes through her loss. speaks little in camp, all she can offer is her thorned words and hopes whoever can swallow it and accept the jagged edges. the cold leaves her huddled closer in, a mottled look of snow and fawn-spotting, a harsh contrast of a cinnamon pelt against the blank world. she's sure anything could see her, but some things are just desperate enough to chance it. and that's all she needs. a slip-up.
it takes from the rising sun until it claims its highest peak in the day, hidden in a pale shroud, before buck returns. hung in her maw is nothing impressive, but it's something, and no one is in the luxury of complaints. a poor rabbit, much too thin and much too desperate. buck isn't usually the best with the land prey, much more adept to the streams, but her skills make do at the very least.
her attention is obvious on the exit of camp, debating on risking another freezing chill, until it becomes clear that someone is trying to grab her own attention.
