a set of empty bones

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She knew what it meant to starve. She had been starving her entire life — food and otherwise. The only time she had not, was her time with Tove and Tamir and yet they were gone, and the sharp edges of her bones returned. Her drive that had started to come back had vanished, and she was alone again with the feeling of being watched, and Axel's ghost haunted her again.

He had been somewhat silent, during her time with Tove and Tamir. He had been there, definitely, but he had not plagued her like he had before. Now, he was back, the evidence of what she had done sticking out of his open nape, and Ravenna saw him even when her eyes were closed. Was it hunger that made her more delirious than usual? She couldn't be sure. She was sure, though, that soon she would meet their Maker. Her Master, the true Master, would snatch her back for failing to be what she had been to the Clan, for thinking she could be something else — something more, and it would be soon.

She did not hunt.

She barely scavenged.

She hungered. So brutally, yet it was numb in her belly now. Her ribs ridged her skin and fur, and she knew part of it was that she simply could not bring herself to do better. To be better — not when it had all gone. Her taste of freedom, of family... it was gone, a dull taste in her throat and she was parched for something she would never attain again. They were dead, she knew it, she had killed them, and if she saw them again she knew it would be when her life had fled her skin and bones.

Ravenna would be Judged all the same.

Her cries had dried up.

Her chin sat lifeless on the grass as she stared, blinking every so often as a bird cawed over head, and she couldn't bring herself to check if it were a Raven or not. 

 

She mourned.

              She angered.

                             She hungered.

She could not dream, not anymore.

Axel stared at her in the distance, having sat down to face her, and he tilted his head as he observed her. You are alive, he told her, and you waste it. Ravenna couldn't bring herself to agree nor disagree. She was a murderer, a sinner, an Omen — what good was her life anyway?

I was a waste from the beginning, she told him dully, and turned her chin on the grass to look away from his plague.

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The rhythm of this land was different. Yet as time passed, it too became recognizable to him. Here, it was spring. Wildflowers bloomed in what seemed like every green meadow, their sweet smells clinging to his fur as he moved through the grass. The sun warmed his dark coat, and he found himself retreating to the shady undergrowth of the woodlands. There, uncoiling ferns tickled his limbs as he walked.

In the light of day, it was easier to keep the veil over his memory from tearing. The hut, the brew, the voice—he did not wish to remember. He remembered an old pain all the same, and he walked faster, as if he could outrun his own self. It was not his paws that quieted his thoughts, however, but the sight of another—a young wolf, collapsed on the ground.

Ilya broke into a trot. He stopped by the yearling’s side, mouth drawn tight with concern. He could hear her heart beating; she still lived. How long had she been here? Where was her family?

As soon as the question came to him, he shook it away. He knew well enough that one’s own kin could be unreliable. At best.

“Hello? Can you hear me?” Ilya asked her. “It’s alright. Help is here.”

He did not know what he could do for her, in truth, but he would try.

---

@Ravenna
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---

Her blinks were slow and infrequent, her haunted depths dry as she stared off into nothing. As if there were a split in the air, seeing something past it, Ravenna stared. She stared wherever Axel didn't plague her, and strangely, he was subdued. Watching her from the side, silent as a mouse, but his face. His face — when she had momentarily seen him, he had looked at her like she hadn't killed him, and he felt sorry for her. It was part of the reason she couldn't bare to stare at him. A ghost or a hallucination of her pain, she didn't care what he was, just that he was always there.

It took Ravenna longer than it should have to notice the new voice, that it wasn't a whisper in the wind of her memories, but real. Her body grew stiff where she lay, but she didn't try to move or stand. What could she do, even if she did? She was skin and bones and quite frankly, Ravenna didn't care. 

Can you hear me?

It's alright. Help is here.

Ravenna wanted to warn him, warn him to get away from her whilst he could because she was bad luck. An omen — whoever found her, always died. Tove and Tamir were evidence of that. 

They had been help, and she had killed them. She was sure of it. She blinked up at him, her shoulder sagging from their taut position. Help, Axel whispered. Take it, Ravenna. She swallowed thickly, dryly, painfully. Her stomach gargled, and her chin shifted on the ground. It was pitiful, the way she wanted to sob, the way her fear wasn't even able to be felt at the older, bigger wolf. It was pitiful the way she wanted to feel relieved.

He looked different to Tove and Tamir. And her. His eyes, she noticed, were the detail that gave her a pause. Gold. Bright. Burning like the sun. Whereas hers were cold, haunted. He was kind, she wanted to cry. His kindness would be his ruin, if he tried help her. Her head tilted to the side, cheek flush against the grass as she gave up, a lone, wanting whimper escaping her.

Pitiful.

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Ilya knew nothing of the yearling’s fears and doubts. All he saw was a sick stranger, and he knew he could not abandon her there. She whimpered, and he tried to think. Her paws and frame looked terribly thin; she must not have eaten in a long time. Perhaps she had wasted away from sickness. Ilya was not a healer, but he could hunt.

“I’ll be back,” Ilya promised. He turned and trotted away, glancing back at the fallen wolf as he did so.

He returned a short time later carrying a squirrel in his jaws. Not the most filling prey, but at least it was something. He didn’t have time to track anything bigger; he feared if he was gone too long, it might be too late.

He placed the squirrel by her snout.

“It’s not much, but it’ll help,” he told her. “You need to eat something.”
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---

He promised his return to her, and Ravenna could do nothing but lay there, watching him disappear. Why would he return? Why would he want to? He didn't know yet, she reasoned, but he would. He would understand why she was alone.

She was in and out of quiet slumber when he returned. Her eyes were bleary as she watched him approach, something dangling in his mouth — small, fresh, and it called to her belly — and then he placed it by her on the ground. No far from her so she would need to move much to get it. She blinked, her throat bobbing against the soil and grass and she realised that he had meant it.

He had said help was here, and he had spoken the truth. The child in Ravenna wanted to sob, because she had so selfishly wanted it despite it all, but the broken pieces in her cut her edges and warded her away, reminding her she didn't deserve it. Axel lingered still, and Ravenna risked a glance at him. Take it, he encouraged her, like her calling card wasn't hanging out of his neck.

Ravenna was tired, exhausted — and she couldn't fight to fight, anymore.

In the end, it was Tove who convinced her. The way she hadn't let her give up before, the way she had taken her in. Saw something in her worth saving. She missed her. Tentatively, the little wraith shifted her head on the ground to tug the squirrel to her by its bushy tail, and she looked pathetic as she started to mouth at it to pull apart its flesh and bones. She was sloppy and slow and her stomach screamed with both joy and hatred for the way the meat felt like salvation and torture both as she swallowed. Ravenna looked up at him through Squirrel fuzz, and it was with a quiet nudge from Axel that she shifted a paw towards him on the grass.

Her thank you, her gratitude.

She couldn't speak it. She couldn't dare to bring it to reality by her voice.

But she tried to show him, still, that she was grateful. 

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