< dancing on the clouds below >

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It had been some time since he had seen the darkest of his sisters. He had heard of the awful ordeal between Edith, she and their half-sister. He was yet to confront Edith about it, to ask what her thoughts were and what brought her to make such a vile decision. He would not condone her actions that took place that day. 

Warwick decided he would search for Maral, he had not found her scent amongst the two woodlands and took to the higher ground in case she found sanctuary elsewhere during her recovery. 

He knew it was not easy for her, the way mother labelled each child. Since the second litter, everything changed for Warwick and his mindset. He no longer viewed the whites upon his sibling's pelt as anything but another hue. They were not sinners. 

Rarely did the prince venture up into the altitude of the mountains, it was far from being his natural habitat, but he knew Maral and others would come here sometimes. He took his chance and navigated through the uneven footings, the heat from the day's sun on the terrain was subsiding during the sunset, so it was not as harsh upon his leathery paws.

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It was not unusual for Maral to place distance between her family, nor did they frequently go in search of her. She was a private creature, one who devoted herself to He who wore a crown of a thousand horns in her own quiet way and who committed herself to serving Elkshire in a manner that did not require the assistance of others. She played her part to the best of her ability before squirrelling herself away, certain that her presence might offend those more devoted to her mother's teachings.

Her cuts had scabbed since the altercation with Edith and she no longer licked continuously at the tooth that'd been chipped. Emotionally, the shadow still felt drained. She did not trust her spoiled sister around the little ones and lingered near their densite often, watchful and anxious that one might happen to cross her path and provoke a more serious attack.

Tired of interaction for the day, Maral removed herself from Elkshire territory. She had @Aldritch on her mind lately, pity in her heart for the state he'd found himself in, and even though she doubted she'd happen across him once again Maral felt she'd find peace in seeing for herself that his sorry lifestyle hadn't killed him. She roamed the crag with the sterling boy in mind, nose working for any suggestion that he might've passed through; the last thing she expected was for Warwick to find her.

Ugh.

She paused to regard him, curious to know if he'd searched for her deliberately or found her by chance.


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He was not savvy to his sister upset when she saw him, he would never be in tune with that until the day she stated otherwise. He adored all his siblings, with Aldritch now being the exception. The silver monarch had crossed a boundary he would not accept, and his disregard and disrespect for Warwick's wishes were also a reason behind his disowning. 

It was perhaps inevitable, even with his mind changing toward the hues on pelts of his beloved siblings, that it wouldn't rid their views on his own. What would their lives be without their religion or the decisions their mother had made, he wondered if they would've been a little more normal, and a closer-knit unit in the way he, Edith and Calhoun were.

The duke spotted the umber brunette, and he watched her quietly for a few moments, just as she did with him, and he wondered for a split second if she even knew it was her brother. 'Sister', he called over to her, making his way to get closer to her. 'I've been looking for you'. Whether she took that positively or negatively, she would always keep him guessing, now used to her incredibly mute and reserved demeanour.

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Maral had never been particularly close to her siblings. With Vermillion she shared some similarity in the form of what she perceived to be rejection, for only two of the eight were stained by tainted alabaster. There was a quiet bond through this alone, though her sister's dispersal made her certain that this was a one-sided appreciation for whatever relationship they could've had. Warwick had never been unkind to her, not like some of their other siblings, but she was certain that he did hold himself above her. He was The Chosen One, after all - heir to the throne of Elkshire, and perfect in every way.

She loved him, but burned with envy. Maral had always felt that she could gift her mother a thousand rabbits to feast on or be blessed by the High Elk himself, right in front of her, and still she would praise Warwick.

A dark ear pricked forward as the Duke announced that he'd been looking for her, but her own expression remained blank. Oh? Maral's dark eyes communicated, and she maintained her silence to allow her sibling to elaborate.


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There was no greeting, as he predicted, as though he were just a wanderer, but he didn't take it to heart, he never did. He knew this was her, but hoped one day he could find that element that would unlock a side to her that was more open, and maybe one full of joy. The duke couldn't recollect the last time he ever saw his sister smile or laugh, and maybe he needed to set this as a goal for when he returned. 

His eyes communicated with her too. A softness though shone through the honeyed tinge in his eyes. 'I haven't seen you for a while. I wanted to know how you were. But before you do, I must tell you I don't agree with Edith's endeavours or how she treated Faust. You were right to protect our sister in the way you did', he hadn't travelled through territories to humour her, or pity her in any way and he hoped his earnest rung through his words. He was a brother before an heir, foremostly.

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Warwick moved in closer, and their eyes met. His were gentle on her, a warmth within their gilded hues that she hadn't expected. Truthfully, the shadow had expected her brother to choose Edith's side considering how close they - and Calhoun - had been throughout their entire lives. It seemed their selfish disappearance from Elkshire had been forgiven.

That was, indeed, disappointing.

Maral blinked, and twitched a whisker. She wondered if it was appropriate to thank him for caring enough to look for her, to ask after her, but knew the words would sound clunky and awkward on her tongue. To spare them both the discomfort of acknowledgement, Maral made no effort to express gratitude.

“She is a bully,” the young Déorwine commented; and a liar, and a snake. There were many bitter thoughts regarding her most arrogant sister, but she felt it safer to keep them to herself. “If The High Elk granted me another opportunity to repeat that day, I would not hesitate to do it again.”


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So rare was it to get a vocal conversation with this sister, and she was receptive to his initial opinions. He could see the anger rise and ignite within her mahogany irises. Aflare from the fury she still felt for the favoured sister. Warwick couldn't help but notice in that molecule of a second a flash of recognition, an uncanny glimpse as if Edith stood before him. The sisters were not so different in the way they demonstrated their passions, and this was a reflection of the blood they shared. He smiled inwardly, there had been a bitter exchange, but they were more alike than they realised, particularly in the way Maral revealed an unrelenting side to herself. 

Warwick nodded, agreeing or accepting the first, he didn't elaborate. Darkness bloomed in Edith since her trip to the Nightwalkers, and he couldn't deny this. A side he had met not so long ago when Edith attempted to draw Warwick into finding their estranged brother and killing him. He didn't like this new remodelling of his sister, thanks to daddy.

'Neither would I', he admitted without a stutter, because had he been in Marals shoes, he would've been quick to deflect Edith's motives too and might have gone as far as lashing out, though to the extent of Marals? Possibly not. Her counter-attack would've stemmed from another level of animosity toward her own sister. One that had simmered and brewed for some time.

He paused for a moment, wanting to seek a depth in their conversation that he had never reached with her before, and there was never the right moment. 'I do not share the same thoughts as Edith does, or Aldritch or any of our other brothers and sisters, in the way they view our family. In the way they place anyone under an inferior light because of the white that tints their pelts', he then looked into his sister's eyes, burrowing into them so she knew he was looking right at her and was speaking directly about her too and the stain she carried as the constant reminder of their backward faith. 'No one should be punished for our mothers' wrongdoings'. He was firm in his words, so she knew he did not jest. 

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She wasn't sure what it was that she expected from Warwick I response to her opinion on what'd transpired between Edith and herself, though mostly she'd thought he'd defend the most beloved sister in some way. Instead his thoughts allied with hers, and Maral frowned in quiet contemplation. She felt suspicious if his backing, as though it might ge some lure to reel her in and trap her - some sick revenge plot, a manipulation by their vain littermate.

The shadow lifted her ears in surprise as Warwick sought her stare again, before she swept them backward. Submissive, Maral's first reaction was to look away, but there was something demanding about the way he stared at her - as though searching for a soul she didn't believe she had.

He did not deem her inferior, apparently. She wanted to believe him, but Maral was stubborn in ways she'd never admit. Her frown deepened and, finally, the sable Déorwine glanced downward. “I do not belong here, Warwick,” she admitted, mahogany gaze cast out over the rugged flatland beyond her vantage point. While her brother's dismissal of the prophecy was a small comfort to her, Maral had known all along that she was undeserving of their mother's name. Elkshire had nit been as kind to her as it had been the favoured children, and she'd never thought of herself as a Princess despite being a daughter of their Queen.

She was simply Maral, and she simply existed. She carried on, “and yet, it is all I've ever wanted.”

To be more than Célnes' stained, Nightwalker child.


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It was as if he were talking to the ghost of another sister. A memory repeating itself in the form of Deja Vu. Vermillion had once spoken of the same. Of her unsettling feeling being within the royals. She had not belonged and she had taken the decision to leave, a choice that Warwick had no say in, no matter his efforts to assist his sibling in feeling beloved again. 

The duke finally sat back onto his haunches, a sigh exhaled when he released the breath he knew not to have been holding when she spoke. 'You belong here in the same way as any of those who carry the Deorwine name', he didn't want to lose another sister due to the neglect she held her share of. 'Do you not believe any different', his voice had softened, to bring an unphysical hug that she probably yearned for. 'For what its worth, I want you here'. Already did he envision her departing without telling a soul. A trauma he had endured when three of his siblings disappeared in the midst of a night.

He was powerless, with the title of the heir, he had no real ability to change rankings or roles, to provide Maral with more of a purpose than just being. Most of his siblings had dealt with a hardship he was never capable of understanding. He viewed their home as a faultless haven and only saw their ruler as its beautiful monarch. 

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He was wrong. Déorwine she may be by name and by blood, but Maral had never fit the image she'd been bred for. The shadow best resembled the father she'd never cared to know, void of most traits expected of her kin. While now her mother wished to speak of her pride and affection for her, likely due to the dispersal of her more beloved children, but Maral had suffered for a long time in ways that Warwick could never understand.

Because he, like Edith and Calhoun, were beloved. They were not tainted. They were blessed by the High Elk as she'd always wished to be, but never would.

She did not seek her brother's gaze again, afraid that the warmth of it would melt through the frozen exterior of her that she'd spent her life building. His words were gentle, void of judgement or mocking, yet Maral steeled herself against them all the same.

“Then you would be the only one,” he sighed. It was what she'd long felt, particularly since Vermillion's departure. She'd always been a seeker of solitude but, with her sister close by, there was a shared sin that helped Maral not feel so painfully isolated.


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With that sullen air from his sister, it was the breeze he needed to navigate his sail toward a better understanding and unravelling of what truly was the root of all of this. Why did they feel so uncherished, what caused them to feel the negativity they exude anytime he showed them love or tried to reason with them. 

His crown dipped to search for her eyes that cast so low. She addressed the ground and not him. 'I hope I'm not a disappointment', he tried to bring some humour to the depth of their heart to heart, but it was short-lived, and he resumed to keep himself from sounding like he would be belittling her any more than her self-esteem already made her feel. 'Vermillion felt the same', he sighed, relieving Maral of his gaze and he looked in direction of Greenwood. 'I miss her'. He returned to look back at his mahogany sister for a few beats, before adding 'I am heading North for a short trip', not wishing to deepen the wound by the mention of with whom, 'Would you accompany me to visit Vermillion when I return?'.

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Maral chose to ignore Warwick's comment, for she believed entirely that he knew he could never be such. He was heir to their mother's throne, destined to wear a crown of his own whenever life saw fit to rest one atop his crown. He was loyal to the High Elk, as devoted as they came, and always eager to please. Warwick had always been most suited as Célnes' favoured son and everyone saw that, yet still the shadow burned with the painful acknowledgement that it could never be her.

Whatever validation her sibling needed to hear, he would not hear it spill from Maral's lips.

His mention of Vermillion was no surprise, for she'd long imagined their sister might feel the same rejection as she. Since they'd first heard the tales of those past sinners, those who wore pelts of ivory, each of the stained Déorwine pair had felt the stares of their kin more sharply. Still, the shadow had been unable to give voice to her own concerns and thus, the sisters were yet to speak of the hurt they shared. Vermillion, in the end, had been driven away by it - and left Maral to stoically withstand the pain with the hope that one day she'd prove the prophecies wrong.

“Perhaps I will,” the young Déorwine said, stubborn as always despite the tug she felt in her heart that was so eager to reunite with her white-kissed sibling, “seek me on your return. I will give you an answer then.”


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Regardless of his attempts to expose a more... exposed side of his sister, he merely smiled at her response. It was something at least. Perhaps if she were to accept, then on their long route she would become more open with the prince. He would hope, anyway. Like squeezing liquid out of a rock, it would be nearly impossible but he would try nevertheless.

The duke gave Maral a curt nod, dipping his crown for a moment or two in a bid farewell at her untold dismissal of him. 'I shall, sister', holding on to his smile, he'd look at her to seek her eyes one last time before his departure. 'Enjoy your evening'. And he glanced at the heavens noticing the last glow of the sun was slowly fading into the horizon. It was his time to turn back, to take on his role as a sentinel to the nursery that held their sleeping brothers and sister for one last night. 

Warwick would turn and leave. This would be the last he saw of Maral until he returned to Elkshire.  

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